Wombat

Now listen children, this is the story of Wombat.

Long, long ago in the Dreaming the most popular pastime among all the animals that walked the young land was to gather together and tell stories. Sometimes these stories were of important things, great battles and the forming of the world; sometimes they were little things, bits and pieces of news, for the world was vast and new happenings traveled slowly; other times the stories were just idle fancies made of a pinch of magic and red dust, neither of which were in short supply back then.

No matter what kind of story a body wanted to hear though, everyone knew the greatest storyteller was Wombat. She would sit with her head just poking outside her burrow or in the shade of a cool tree and in her low, slow tone (Wombat never did anything quickly if she could help it, this is true even today) she would weave fantastic tales. It was Wombat who first described the Rainbow Serpent battling the Sun and it was Wombat who first warned that sighting the Minka bird was an ill omen and told how those who saw it never had long to live.

Of course, talent always breeds jealousy and not all the other animals were content to simply enjoy Wombat's stories: they wanted to be the center of attention themselves. Kookaburra in particular was desperately consumed by a desire to be known as the greatest storyteller in the land. Try as he might though he could never weave a tale that would make the other animals laugh as hard or weep as painfully or love as deeply as Wombat's could.
Resolving that it must simply be a matter of practice Kookaburra told story after story in quick succession, in fact he began telling his stories so quickly that he became known for his characteristic staccato voice: 'kookoo-kahkah-kookoo-kahkah'.

After a while a strange thing started to happen: While everyone still acknowledged Wombat's stories as the best most chose to listen to Kookaburra instead. Kookaburra went through so many stories so quickly that all the other animals were afraid that if they took the time to listen to one of Wombat's slower tales they might be the only one to miss something exciting. So the crowds around Wombat's burrow grew smaller and smaller until one day she plodded out to see no one had come to listen to her stories at all, excepting Koala, who slept in a tree above Wombat's burrow anyway so no one could tell if he was ever listening.

'Koala, are you awake?' asked Wombat, after she was sure no one was coming.
Koala grumbled and groaned at Wombat (Koala always let his food stew and ferment for hours in his stomach so he was always sleepy and cranky, this is true even today) but Wombat patiently sat through his curses and eventually he turned his head down towards her and replied, 'am now, I think. What'cher want?'
'Do you know where everyone has gone?' Wombat enunciated slowly, as was best when Koala had been digesting for a long time.
'They uh, 'soff to listen to Kookaburra ehn't they?'
'Oh, I see.' said Wombat in a sad small voice, 'Koala?'
'Emph?'
'Have my stories become boring?'
'Nah 'course not, Wombatsalwaysgotthebesstories, 'swat I always say. Why you think I sleep 'ere?'
'But Kookaburra tells better stories now?'
But the only answer Wombat got was Koala's rough snoring

After some thought, Wombat decided that the best thing she could do was to go with the other animals and listen to Kookaburra's stories to see what she could learn. Before long the echo of Kookaburra's staccato call had drawn her to a tall, tall tree where Kookaburra sat and declaimed to the crowd gathered below. Since most of the other animals were larger than her and looking up at Kookaburra besides Wombat was able to move unnoticed to the front where she settled down to listen.

It didn't take long before she started to become unsettled by the way Kookaburra's stories were constructed: they all followed a very simple formula, at least to start with, but he seemed to constantly change his mind about what would happen next depending how interested his audience was. In fact Wombat was sure that several times the first part of a story was completely dropped in favor more exciting sequences that seemed to come out of nowhere but she couldn't be quite sure because of how quickly Kookaburra shifted from one tale to another.

Eventually she couldn't bear anymore and quietly dragged herself away from the crowd feeling dejected and confused. Kookaburra's stories were not as good as hers, she was sure of that. If she could only master the speaking style that Kookaburra used she'd be able to tell her stories as quickly as he did and people would want to listen to her again.

As she was thinking this she became aware of a persistent chirping noise coming from somewhere nearby, moving to investigate she found Frog sitting in some branches overhanging a pond apparently absorbed in repeating something over and over to himself.
Wombat smiled to see her old friend and called out to ask what he was doing.
'Practicing,' explained Frog after nearly falling out of his tree from surprise at the interruption, 'I'm learning to tell stories like Kookaburra. I'm getting better but I'm still not as fast as he is, see:' and he began rhythmically chirping a simple story of a frog far from home.
'Could you show me that again?' asked Wombat after Frog had finished his story.
'It's not to hard to start with,' replied Frog, demonstrating as he spoke, 'You start at your stomach and push up and forward till the sound gets to your mouth. The trick is to get your rhythm up so you can do it quickly.'
Wombat tried mimicking the movement, her front claws digging into the dirt with concentration.
'Well,' said Frog, 'It's a start.'

And so Wombat spent the rest of the day with Frog practicing, and then each night after that would pace in front of her burrow practicing telling this story or that story in the new style, claws digging into the earth with each new sound, trying to get faster and faster as Koala snored gently above her head. Then as the sun rose she would go with the other animals and watch Kookaburra give his daily performance and try to spot some new nuance of his technique before returning home to sleep before it got too hot. She became so wrapped up in forcing her normally slow languid tone to fit this new harsh style that as she would pace and practice her body would tense and twist with the effort, she spoke to no one, save Koala who would sometimes be waiting at the base of the tree when she got back from watching Kookaburra to compliment her the stories she had told the previous night.

Time wore on and while Wombat went to watch Kookaburra religiously his popularity among the other animals was waning and his crowds were steadily decreasing. It didn't seem that they were going anywhere else, they simply weren't going to see Kookaburra anymore. As Wombat was wandering home contemplating this new development, ready to fall asleep after a long night of practice and an interminable morning of Kookaburra's disjointed plots, when she passed some of the other animals heading away from her burrow. Frog was moving swiftly in the middle of the group but when he saw Wombat he slowed down, 'That was a great story today Wombat. I can't wait to finish it tomorrow.'
Before Wombat could ask what he meant Frog had hopped away again and started talking excitedly with the other animals, from what Wombat could overhear it sounded like they were talking about the seven sisters, which was one of the stories she had been practicing the night before.

Thoroughly confused Wombat returned to her burrow to see Koala sitting at the bottom of the tree bidding farewell to a few remaining animals. Suddenly everything fell into place.
'You've been telling my stories!' she confronted Koala angrily,
'Whatchoo mean Wombles?' Koala replied with with a fuzzy stare.
'You've been listening to me at night and then telling my stories like your own,' Wombat went on, barely listening, 'I never would have thought you'd do this to me, you know how hard I've been practicing and now you do this.'
'I.. I haven't bin telling any stories Womby, you know I can't keep track of the... thing.. words. I've just been showing everyone the stories you've been leaving for me.' a sloppy sadness creeping into his voice at Wombat's accusations of betrayal.
'What?'

As Wombat slowly teased the story out of Koala it became apparent that he had been watching and listening to her practice each night, but from his perspective at the top of the tree her practice looked quite different. As Wombat had twisted and scratched at the dirt in concentration each sound she tried to enunciate in Kookaburra's forced style had left a different mark in the dirt beneath her claws, even though his concentration wasn't the best it didn't take Koala long to link sounds to marks. Since he had a very straightforward and slightly self-centered view of the world he had decided that his friend Wombat was leaving the stories there on the dirt for him so he could look at them at his convenience. The ability to hear whichever story he wanted at his leisure had excited him so much that he had brought other animals round and taught them how to decipher the marks Wombat left behind.

'Oh.' said Wombat, as it finally all sunk in. Looking around with new eyes at her tracks back and forth and around the clearing near her burrow she was struck by all the stories just lying there in the dirt. Stories that would stay there until they were erased and not fade quickly on the air. She realized that telling her stories like this she could tell more stories to more people than Kookaburra ever could.
Turning back to Koala she asked, 'Could you teach me how to read them too?'

So that is how Wombat was the first animal to write down her stories, and soon other animals were writing there own as well as reading Wombat's and they stayed there for all to see (for as long as these things do) and people weren't forced to listen to only one story at a time or worry they might miss something exciting ever again. Even today, though people write in many more complex and permanent ways than Wombat's first scratchings a tracker in deep bush will always go out of their way if they spot a wombat trail and they say the stories are always worth the time.