Jerret of the Marsh

was not like most people. He wasn't interested in cars, horses or ships. Why should he, when he could fly? He had long since mastered the winds, a talent he had been born with. Not that Jerret thought he was anything special. He just loved getting from one place to another quickly and enjoying life as it came.

If there was a party somewhere worth going to, Jerret was there. He rushed in as soon as the music started, grabbed a drink and mingled with the partygoers. Whether it was a fancy ball in the big city or a small, cosy party in a village that no one had ever heard of - as soon as there was something to eat, drink and laugh about, Jerret was there.

His friends joked that he had a sixth sense for festivals. ‘You always come at just the right time,’ they laughed, and Jerret smiled and said: ’It's just the wind, my friends. He knows where the good times are.

But for all his love of company, Jerret also needed his quiet moments. That's why he had the swamp. It was far out, hidden from the rest of the world. No one else had ever set foot there, and Jerret liked that. The swamp was his own little paradise - nothing but reeds, gentle wind and the sound of water lapping softly against the mud.

When he had spent days travelling from one party to the next, he would retreat there and sink into the silence as if it were an old friend. No one would come looking for him and he could rest and listen to the croaking of the frogs and the sound of the wind in the marsh grass.

Entered by: 0x394f…10B6