PITH & PRIMM

 Illustrated by Cargodin – Written by Ian Mondrick

A day full of promise had turned sour for young Master Pith. 

The early afternoon sun climbed slowly, promising the first of what would hopefully be many splendid spring days. Pith could see the morning dew atomizing on the hilltops behind his home, coaxed back to the sky by the rapidly warming air. He loved those hills, and especially at this time of day. Any morning where school wasn’t a concern, you could find him running along their peaks, his thin arms jutting straight out from his sides. He’d make, (as he called them) “propeller noises”, pretending to soar over his small town, the first frog from his village to become a pilot.  

But Pith’s mother had other plans for him this particular morning. 

Mrs. Primm, their esteemed neighbor, had called up from the market and asked if Pith could assist her on the way back home, as the road down was a bit more slippery than she had anticipated. Pith was to go there directly and make sure she got back home safely, and after that, he could do with his afternoon as he pleased. And to be clear, it wasn’t the obligation that irritated Pith, it was merely the timing. Any delay and the mist would dissipate, his “clouds” would be gone, the line between fantasy and reality too clear to ignore. But Pith knew that to argue with his mother on this point would only invite more threats to his unrestricted free time, so he curtly agreed before sprinting off down the road, hoping to save whatever precious seconds he could. 

She was very easy to spot among the day’s crowds. Her gilded parasol, bobbing a few inches above the throng of people, looked to Pith’s eyes like it was flying, a stinging reminder of what he was missing. The polite mob parted as Mrs. Primm made her way through, one of the oldest and most respected members of their small village, her dazzling and ornate dress eliciting as much respect as the woman herself. Pith tried to work up an earnest smile for her, but her keen eyes saw directly through him. Her brow furrowed and she made a soft, regretful cluck.

“Oh Pith, I’m so sorry I had to take you away from your adventures on a beautiful morning such as this. I’m sure you have so much planned. But you’ll be happy to know I have a surprise for you back at my house, cooling on the windowsill as we speak. Help me home, and it’s all yours.

A surprise? Pith was intrigued, but hardly enthusiastic. The stories his parents told about the old goose’s baked desserts made them seem larger than life, capable of curing your cold or helping you fall in love. But it was all hyperbole, rose-colored talk from the past that would never, could never live up to the expectation. Surely whatever cake or pastry she had made the night before would be delicious, but not worth the expense of his clouds, his hills, his flying.

But young master Pith was nothing if not a dutiful  lad, so he carried on. He assisted her over every crack, rivulet, and lily pad. And somewhere along the way, he noticed the sun on his face, the light shining golden through the trees, and basked in the beauty of his world. Mrs. Primm was silent as they walked, only offering her thanks when Pith’s help was necessary. As they neared her house, the most incredible smell lilted in front of the young master’s nostrils, briefly possessing him with their irresistible aroma. 

“They smell…amazing” he whispered breathlessly, practically salivating at the thought of the delights that awaited him. 

“Why thank you Pith,” she said, her webbed feet clomping up her wooden front steps. “I won’t ask you to stay; I know you’re trying to...catch a flight” she said slyly. “I’ll wrap this up and you can eat it on your way to the hills.”

“How does she know that?” he thought as he reached out, the warm sugar cookie descending into his eager palms, the napkin barely containing its warmth. He stared at it in a daze, the fresh scent intoxicating his nostrils. He’d have lost his morning clouds, too, if Mrs. Primm hadn’t shooed him along, prompting young Pith to take his first eager bite of the cookie. 

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted!” he shouted back to her, more excited now than he’d been all day. He had such a tale to tell, and so many more adventures ahead of him. The soft grass on his feet, the dew spattering onto his legs as he ran up the hill, another warm bite of cookie sweet on his lips. The taste seemed to imbue with hope, with power, with a kind of energy he’d never felt before. 

And as he ran up the hill his feet began to leave the earth, slipping the bonds of gravity and propelling him into the air. 

And so began the story of Pith, the first frog to soar above his sleepy little town.

-Illustrated by Cargodin

-Written by Ian Mondrick