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“Take me inside,” The Blob says. “It’s been such a long time.”
“Yes. A million years. My ancestor was your friend. The stories have been told and retold.”
“Yes. I remember the wars we fought and won. The army of birds - you vulqures was a sight to behold in full flight. As warrior birds, your deeds with spear and sword filled other jungle folks with dread. It is because of your tribe and their fighting prowess that I could be the King.”
“But a large part of the success was because of your magical prowess,” the chief said.
“Yes, I had powers. Not mere magic. I still have powers,” the Blob said gravely.
The Blob which seemed so frail in the boat was now standing proudly in The Oak and in front of it, quavering in their nightgowns were the vulqures and their chief. For, the Blob was none other than Gebril, the king of the wild warriors of the Old World!
“Then you vulqures inhabited a thousand oaks. How many are you now?”
“Just this oak. We live like any other bird. There is not a single creature who knows that we were the army for Emperor Gebril, The King of all the Forests. Eons ago, we crossed the mightiest oceans, went past the tallest mountains and conquered the remotest forests. The very mention of Emperor Gebril, The King of Forests and the Vulqures The Army of Warrior Birds, used to send shivers down the spine of the bravest animals. But alas! It was the Old World. Times have changed. Now it is the New World.”
“Who rules now?”
“A two legged creature.”
“What is it called?”