Tales and Legends of Atysmas - Lore & Chronicles

Frido the Frippo
Near a meadow where mektoubs and raspal were grazing, there was an old root thicket. In this thicket, near a barn and granary, there lived a family of talkative frippos. But the homins had moved on, barn and granary were empty. And as it turned to become winter soonish, the frippos started to gather grains and nuts and jubula and staw. All frippos laboured day and night. All, but the frippo Frido. ``Frido, why don't you work?'' they asked. ``I am working'' replied Frido, ``I'm collecting sun rays for the cold and dark winter days''. And as they saw Frido sitting there, gazing at the meadow, they said ``And now, Frido? We are all working, what do you do?'' ``I'm collecting colours'' he said, ``as the winter is long and grey.'' And once it looked like Frido was half asleep while all others were working hard. ``Are you dreaming, Frido?'' the frippos asked with contempt. ``Heck, no'', he said, ``I'm collecting words. There are long and dark winter days and we will not know what we shall talk about.'' As winter was approaching, and the first snow fell, the five small Frippos retreated into their hide-out between the roots and branches. In the first days they still had plenty to eat and the Frippos told many stories about singing Varinx and dancing Tyranchas. The whole family of Frippos was happy! But more and more of the nuts and Jubula eaten, the straw ran empty and the grains were only a remote memory. It suddenly became quite cold between the roots and branches of the old root, and no-one felt anymore like talking. Then they suddenly remembered when Frido talked about sun rays, colours and words. ``Frido!'' they called, ``what abour your provisions?'' ``Close your eyes'' he replied and climbed a large root. ``Now I'm sending you sun rays. Do you already feel how warm they are? Warm, nice and golden?'' And while Frido was telling about the Sun, the four Frippos already felt much warmer. Was it Fridos voice? Or was it some magic? ``And what about the colours?'' they asked excitedly. ``Close your eyes again.'' said Frido. And as he talked about blue Liosta and orange Gonji in the yellow fields of Ba-Che and of green leaves of the Jubula bushes, then they saw the colours so clearly and vibrantly as if they had been painted within their small Frippo heads. ``And the words, Frido?'' Frido cleared his throat, waited a moment and then told from a small stage: ``Who scatters the snow flakes, who melts the ice?'' Who makes the loud weather, who makes it silent? Who brings the lucky clover in Frutor? Who dims the day, who lights the Moon? Four small Frippos like you and me, live in heaven and think of you. The first Frippo in spring makes the rain laugh. The summer Frippo is the painter and has to colour the flowers. The autumn frippo sends his regards with nuts and Bac-Che. The winter frippo needs warm shoes for his cold feet. Spring, summer, autumn and winter are the four seasons, no more, no less. Four different happiness``. As Frido finished all Frippo clapped jollily, laughed and shouted ''Firdo, you are a poet!`` Firdo blushed, bowed and said humbly ''I know, you beloved Frippo-faces.``