Holdridge the Garden Gnome was sitting in his hole, pondering the day’s events. That horrid child had tossed him so far that he’d gotten all turned around and couldn’t find his hole again until well after dark.
Wretched wizards, he thought. As far as he was concerned, all wizards were at the very bottom of the food chain. He rated them right down there with the bottom-feeders that came into his hole after the rains.
His day had started out normally enough. He’d run out of the tunnel as the sun was rising for the morning run. All gnomes ran a lap around the garden they called home each day at sunrise. It was tradition, reminding them to be thankful they had homes. Holdridge wasn’t exactly sure where it had begun, but he knew not to join in was tantamount to asking for an eviction. Gnomes didn’t hold with those who refused to honour their traditions.
The run had gone well, he’d thought. All of his fellows had been in a rather pleasant mood, and were chattering away. He knew wizards thought gnomes couldn’t speak, but, as they were fond of saying, just because a gnome didn’t speak to a wizard didn’t mean he was incapable of speech. Gnomes just liked to have intelligent conversations, and everyone knew that a wizard was useless for that.
After the run, it was customary for everyone to hunt worms together, so that is what Holdridge did. Worms were plentiful in the garden they lived in, and breakfast was quickly put together. Holdridge was quite a solitary creature, and he enjoyed the fact that meals, at least, were taken alone. He went back into his hole and curled into his kitchen to enjoy his feast.
What a humdrum existence, he’d thought. Worms for breakfast, beetles for lunch, and grubs for dinner – that’s what all gnomes ate everyday.
“What if I wanted beetles for breakfast?” he asked his room.
Suddenly, a commotion from above caught his attention. Hurrying up the tunnel to the entrance of his home, he burst into the morning sunlight. The wizards who owned the garden were pulling his fellows from their homes and tossing them over the fence. Before he could form a derisive thought on the intelligence of the wizards, one he’d never seen picked him up and held him at an arm’s length. He struggled with the wizard, finally biting him, hoping the evil creature would release him. Instead, he was tossed further than he’d ever been during one of the raids.
Holdridge looked around. There were large trees over his head. The gloom they cast wasn’t exactly frightening, after all, he lived underground, but it wasn’t very comforting either. He was a bit turned around; he wasn’t sure where home was. For a moment, he panicked, but he quickly regained control of himself and called out the names of a few of his fellows, hoping for a travelling companion. There was nary an answer.
The gloom seemed to close in on him, and he heard a loud screech. It was an owl. Running as fast as his little legs could carry him, Holdridge tried to take cover under the roots of a large tree, but he was too late. The owl scooped him up by his trousers and flew away with him. From this elevated position, he could see the wall of his garden home not far away, but the owl was carrying him away from it.
He struggled, swinging about wildly, until his trousers ripped and he fell. He landed with several bounces before coming to a stop. You see, there is a little-known fact about gnomes which saved him – gnomes bounce. Trouser-less, he made his way back in the general direction he believed the owl had flown with him.
“I need something to wear,” he decided. He knew if he returned to the garden without his pants, the other gnomes would never let him hear the end of it. Sighing, he began to search for something to cover himself with.
A shuffling noise came from behind him and he turned, wondering what could possibly happen next. A small creature, about half the size of a normal gnome, stood behind him. There was a hole under a tree root that was clearly his home. To Holdridge’s amazement, the other gnome didn’t laugh at him. On the contrary, he was quite sure that the other creature was inviting him inside its hole.
Grabbing a leaf from the dirt under him, he followed the small being underground.
Sitting by his cosy moss-fire, Holdridge remembered the amazing scene that met his eyes in the fellow’s home. Small furniture, comfortable and well made, was peppered throughout the room. The creature went to a small box along a wall and pulled out a pair of trousers. They would be small, but they would cover him. Thanking the creature, Holdridge put them on.
The creature spoke in a series of squeaks that he couldn’t understand. He suddenly realized that this must be a forest-elf. They were famous for their ability to make furniture and clothing. According to legend, they’d even made friends with any number of wood-dwelling creatures and could summon them at will. Gnomes spoke of these creatures with fear and apprehension.
The elf, realizing that the gnome couldn’t understand him, gestured to Holdridge to be seated. He took a comfortable looking chair and settled in. Within moments, the elf had returned with a small wooden disc full of grubs.
It can’t be dinner already! he thought. He stifled a laugh as he realised that an elf didn’t have to follow the traditions of a gnome. Bowing his head to the elf, he took the disc and began to eat. The grubs were delicious, tender and juicy, with just the right amount of flavour. They’d obviously been caught that day.
Holdridge spent the remainder of the afternoon with the elf. He learned a few elvish words and the elf, in turn, learned a few English ones. Holdridge was just starting to wonder how he would find his way back home when the elf let out a high-pitched squeal.
A badger appeared. Squeaking intently at it, the elf gestured for Holdridge to get on its back. Warily, he did so. He looked down and waved at the elf. The elf waved back and squeaked. The badger began to move, quickly covering ground. Holdridge recognised the field they entered; it was next to his home.
The sun was setting as the badger stopped outside the garden gate. Holdridge climbed off and waved good-bye. Wearily, he climbed into his hold and put his pyjamas on. He sat next to his fireplace, wishing for the comfortable chair the elf had owned.
“Holdridge! Wake up!” a loud voice shouted in his ear. Holdridge opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor in his bedroom.
“You missed the run this morning! We’ve taken a vote, and you are to leave the garden at once! I hope an owl catches you!” It was the Head Gnome.
Wearily, Holdridge packed his belongings and walked slowly out of the garden, the other gnomes shouting insults to him. He headed for the direction of the forest and his new friend.
