The silver-eyed bodmin lived on thread-like, honey-coloured worms. When lost in thought, as she was now, the worms often hung, dangling helplessly, in her beak. She was composing a poem and the phrase ‘time gnawed at its own tail’ had entered her mind. She mulled this over then dismissed it as so much empty verbiage.
Her lyric musings were interrupted by a loud belch and the smell of strong drink. ‘Are you interested in antiques,’ asked a squintfly which had crept up on her unawares. ‘I have several instruments of torture, 15th and 16th century, which would grace any bodmin’s residence.’ The squintfly produced a small catalogue and showed her photographs of various racks and thumb screws. ‘All in perfect working order,’ he assured her. ‘You could start a museum, charge people an entrance fee.’
For a long time people believed that the silver in a bodmin’s eye was actual silver, and many attempts were made to extract it, though without success. This was fortunate for the bodmin as otherwise it would have been hunted to extinction.
The silver-eyed bodmin swallowed the worms wriggling in her beak, stared at the squintfly and said nothing, She’d learned from experience it was a mistake to engage with them.
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Simon Collings
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