Stories from the Kingdom of Klah

The Earl of Whippet, with Roger

Many things exist in Klah that do not exist in other countries, such as ice cream made from twigs, and twigs made from ice cream. There are lakes that seize people and turn them into blueberries, levitating rocks, shrubberies with Foresight, and musical busking trees – and on that note, there is also a rare musical sound found only in Klah, the elusive K-minor, which has usefully been described by those who have heard it as a cross between a seahorse and a snacking quiche.

Although the K-minor can be produced from within, it cannot be produced very often by the average voicebox – that is, unless one has recently feasted on the liver of the Klangfarbenmelodie Bird (K-bird). Since a national awareness campaign was started in the ’90s, most citizens of Klah now recognise the K-birds’ right to life over their own desire to produce a seahorse + snacking quiche noise – unfortunately, with the exception of another of Klah’s natural phenomena, their special breed of native singing cat, who make it a policy to catch and gobble every Klangfarbenmelodie Bird they can find, and then belt out all their favourite tunes in K-minor.

For this reason many K-birds develop a symbiotic relationship with others, such as the Earl of Whippet, pictured here  with his good friend Roger. The Earl is able to defend Roger from liver-stealing cats, and in turn Roger, particularly on wild journeys through swamps and jungles, protects the Earl from being troubled by insects such as bloodsucking Vacuumflies and stinging Saltbeetles. “Not to mention our great chats”, says the Earl. “There is something comforting about having a little voice on top of your head, not just in it. And now when I get invited to banquets and raves, I always have my + 1 sorted.”

The Radiant Ranges are not glorious and light as one would imagine, but dark and ominous, and strange things happen there – perhaps the strangest of all being the diamonds that sometimes rain from the sky, like the most radiantly dangerous hail you have ever seen, or been smacked in the face with. To avoid injuries, a magnificent group of lantern moths provide a warning system before each diamond fall, flying over the valleys and signaling to the citizens to helmet up the cows and hurry inside. Due to the abundance of diamonds in the area, anything that can be made from diamond is, from houses to harpsichords, tables to toothbrushes, and sometimes the teeth themselves. On the unusual occasion that it is sunny, the citizens are forced to wear special diamond-blocking glasses to protect their eyes from the glare, and stop them developing what is commonly known as “sparkle-eye”. The lantern moths have performed this honorable warning duty for as long as anyone can remember. When they are not signaling, they are forecasting the next fall. They do this in a number of ways: as well as having a weather station with the usual gadgets and gizmos, they watch the skies, they feel the vibrations of the weather on their wings, and they listen to the whispers of the diamonds. The Kingdom of Klah has created this image to commemorate the fine and important job the lantern moths do.

Some people are very good at life. I do not mean that they have houses that match their briefcases and never wash their whites with a stray red sock, or that they have a five-year-plan in a folder which is in a bookcase, not accidentally stored in the woodpile.