Cratchett used to tell Edward that he wasn’t from round these parts, that he was from some place far away; that he’d travelled a lot. He told stories about places he’d been, people he’d met; things he’d seen.
“If you’d only been there!” he’d say, with a smile on his face, eyes glazed. He’d shake his head and look over at Edward. “Someday boy, someday you’ll leave here, go travelling, and then you’ll find out for yourself!”
Cratchett said that he was born a ŝtono simio, a stone monkey, born in the misty mountain forests of Hejmo. Edward always thought the old man looked like a monkey, with his wrinkled skin and his deep brown eyes.
Edward burst into Cratchett’s workshop, face red, breathing in ragged gasps. The old man looked up from his work in surprise.
“I’ve…found…I’ve….it’s in the…it’s in the junk yard…it’s a…come see…come with me…!” Edward panted.