To see the Tuneland of GlenofD’Raaah from above was to witness a great triskel of mountains protruding from the fabric of space time. It appeared to just float there against the stars, un-phased, eternal, without a care in the universe. Should you have dared to fly too close however you may began to feel the pull of gravity towards a heavy unrelenting weight – a Sosighcity of too many tribes trapped on an eternal circle of life, death, love and hate. The only way out, dressed in the Death-jackboat the Fairies eventually embalmed their mortal remains in when someone gave up their ghost.

Down there. Below the constant drone of Fairy-orchestrated sky ships and the thunderous cloud tops. Between the deep green glens of GlenofD’Raaah’s wizard-wind-wild peaks, flicked the veins of lizard-lamp-lit streets struggling to maintain there light against a mass of trees and mountain crags that threatened to strangle and crush the life out this Tuneland’s inhabitants if given the chance. Any P.O.E aka Point-Of-Existence who lived down here (or ‘tribal folker’ as they are better know to each other) well, they had bigger problems to contend with which might seemed like massively smaller problems if they dared to ponder what those with more Cosmic concerns may had in store for their future. But I don’t think I would be worrying too much about what a Wizard or a Fairy might be plotting with their inter-dimensional existences if I were on a cobrus slithering  up among the bright lights of GlenofD’Raaah’s high street, the gleam of all those Fairy fashion boutiques and bizarre food emporiums seducing me from of either side of this multi-storeyed electric avenue.

Three MOUTH tribe folkers, barely Pain-agers (the MOUTH term for teenager) but too unleashed to be called brats any more had a definite destination in mind when they decided to take the cobrus at bottom of their apartment cliff face one night  and head up high street. It wasn’t to find a place to buy Fairy-made garments or get some mind-warping wizard-eats into their bellies either.

‘Oy, Three tickets to Lionbiters heights!’ The most boisterous alpha of this pack cried up at the cobrus wrangler, a large Ape-in-flannel (AIF) barebacking the cobrus like a horse, giant reins in hand. 

‘Where’s that now?’ The AIF snorted with a bare face lie of a whine out of her great ten foot wide head, nearly blowing them over with her immense breath.

 ‘Top of Stupidly Steep Lane just past Fairyland park! You know, tis all the way up there.’

The boy was pointing up to the top of a horrendously steep ridge of forest and cliffs, zig zagged by a narrow lane of  tumbledown cottages and converted castles. This high road barely hung on to the edge of its cliff possessing a gradient even steeper than High Street’s neon bleed below in its own viciously steep hanging valley.

‘Sure you MOUTHs aren’t mad or something,’ the wrangler snorted, ‘up there is awfully close to the GlenofD’Flesh wizard back gate and the mountains of West Croak beyond.’ 

‘No, if we wanted to get out of the Sosighcity and go mad in the C*%ntyside, there’s perfectly good wizards gate to hop over at the top of High Street.’

‘You folkers! Fair enough, I believe you. So what have you got to trade? This will take more than any pocket money you might have – I’m feeling end-of-shift-lazy tonight. I might need some serious black mailing!’

The Boisterous alpha pulled out a football sized sweet from his rucksack and held this glowing orb up towards the wrangler’s nose.

‘Wizard gobstopper eh? If you can fling in it in my mouth like a basketball then we have a deal!’

‘Oh this will be easy.’ the boisterous alpha beamed, instructing the female of his companions, and the tallest of them, to give the stopper a toss with bounce of her toes.

When wide open, the wranglers mouth looked big enough to swallow them all whole but with a bouncy wet rattle this tower of a girl didn’t miss her mark and the aif now had something to suck on noisily. With ever such dexterity, the wrangler then used a tiny biro between two of her chair-sized nails to scribble the word ‘Lionbiters heights only’ across the tribal tattoos on  each of the Mouth’s arms. Biro tattoos were proof of ticket in this Tuneland. 

The teens now piled in through a pair of rickety wooden doors near the cobrus’s tail. Following a creaky floor past many rows of hard seats along a dimly lamp-lizard lit aisle, the gradient quickly got steeper and steeper. The teens were determined to follow the neck of the cobrus all the way up to the  highest row of seating  in the topmost head window of this bus/snake hybrid. Long before they had swung them selves up from handrail to handrail to the top of the cobrus there came an intense hiss that made the whole creature shudder.  With a deafening grinding, it started to slither up along the cobbles joining the rest of the traffic as it meandered up high street and beyond. 

Vehicles of every shape, from simple chariots to beast rides to chicken legged campercluckvans and family tanks vied for the rule of the road or what little  constituted the rules of the road in this Tuneland (namely get the H out my way or get a horn up the back side) But despite all the aggressive drivers putting on a good road rage they were lucky if they could get their vehicles (or weirdicles) to crawl up hill against the gridlock no matter how much they tried to claw out each others head lights. These wild roads, meant pavement dwellers needed to extra careful too and many pedestrians were dressed with extra layers of armour under there long coats and held onto their concealed swords with extreme white knuckle grip. This heart in mouth, tense environment meant only one thing, it was only a matter of time before the next street fight kicked off.

The MOUTH teens meanwhile were like gods from the top of their cobrus, watching this urban-jungle-madness unfurl with cold curiosity. All the depravity outside was little more then a bit of evenings entertainment. But then there was the added interactivity of enduring the odd, eye-watering hate-filled-stare from someone catching them smirking at their suffering through the grimy window of their transport. 

After a few stops along high streets mid reaches, the cobrus took a sharp lurch left down the darkening alley way of a more sleepy side street. Stopping beside the back wall of a low terrace, the creature took little care about knocking somebody’s stuffed bins all over the street.

‘Bottom of Stupidly Steep Lane.’ The wrangler’s voice boomed through the walls of the cobrus shaking everyone onboard to the bone. ‘Everybody off! End of the slither!’

‘What?’ the Boisterous Alpha wasn’t too happy, ‘But our arm tickets say Lionbiter heights! We gave her the gob stopper what’s the problem?’ 

There came a heavy ape fist against the wood panel wall.

‘Didn’t you hear me in there MOUTH’s or were you too busy mouthing off like you MOUTH tribe folkers usually do all the time?’ 

The Boisterous Alpha now opened a rather loose and rotten side window so he could make stern, hard-stare eye contact back at the wrangler.

‘Why aren’t you going all the way to Lionbiter’s heights, you great dirty aif?’

The huge aif face snorted at him like a steam engine before looking up at the lurching upwards curve-of-a-zig-zig this narrow lane made along cliff ledges and ravines for the next few hundred feet or so. This forgotten street made a helter skelter of lizard street lamps until it reached a beastly head shaped building far above, nestled on a pinnacle at one end of the rather fetching stretch of rolling park land which was also table-topped above its own row of cliffs.

‘Cant be bothered,’ the wrangler now snorted in conclusion, ‘End of the slither!’ 

‘This isn’t very professional of you! I’m going to get my mother to carve your management a very rude tablet! She can make fully enlightened Wizards cry with one of her chipped rants! An Ape-in-Flannel should be a piece of cake!’

‘You mouth folkers! Think just because you say something it will happen! Would you rather come with me back to the depot then?’ The wrangler offered a sarcastic alternative, ‘Cause that’s my next stop!’ 

‘What’s a cobrus depot like?’ The Tower of a Girl now asked with a curious moan. 

‘I don’t really know I just release my cobrus into a big wilderness behind a housing estate at the end of the shift. I mean we call it the depot but in fact it’s just a very dark void over the edge of a precipice full of screams and mooonsterous sounds. Fancying going there? It will be no bother to me either way. Also I suspect your mothers would make you all cry if they knew what you were up too.’ 

At this point, staring down a fifty foot tall ape, the three MOUTHs were left with little choice. Thirty minutes later they were to be found 300 hundred feet uphill, many sickeningly loose-cobbled zig zags later, huffing and whizzing like wounded elephants.