Woofkins & Frumpleton

Tales from Wickeldrift

An old sunken path winding between mossy banks, brambles and heather, splitting in two around a grey boulder.

The narrator would like you to know that this page is not finished. Neither, frankly, is the narrator.

The narrator would also prefer to remain anonymous. It’s nothing personal. Some stories simply go better when you don’t know who is telling them.

A black labrador who thinks things through. An elephant who feels things through, and now and then falls through them. Some peculiar friends along the way. And a web of very old paths that someone has been quietly keeping open for whoever comes after.

Season One: The Hush · coming along the path

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