A small fellow at the back of the line, with utensils in his hands wiped some rice off his face and looked up wearily warily wearily warily at the beast.
Sealing his eyes nearly conspicuously absent, the head of the dolphin edged forward, his elongated neck reaching toward the boy, over the long line of penny pinchers, dirt wringers, handkerchief blowers, the two men of the hand and, by my count, 76 others - extended like the accordian neck of a jack-in-a-box, but, no it was nothing like that at at all, well, something like that, maybe, well, smoother, and said, oh man, I have no idea what he said, oh, oh, right, he said, "Brywandil?"
Look, I'm not even the narrator here, so you'll have to excuse me. All I have is this pile of notes, and if I do this, I don't have to do his laundry, so bear with me, will you? Yeah, OK, so small fellow - utensils says "Brywandil" and then the dolphin head, something about his eyes, wait, "make eyes look menacing" - what the hell does that mean? - I'm sorry folks, I can barely write, but to describe pantomime is beyond me.
You may be wondering. It's true. The way you perceived me, and you cast it aside as a ridiculous item in a long list of frootenany that described the scallywags and heroes and whatnots asunder that Errol had collected, in his diligent efforts to gather those not called Brywandil - and it was true, there were many - and many more he had yet to collect.
The world, even then, was a big place, perhaps bigger here, than any of us could imagine. Consider that there was only one named Brywandil, and you may sense the magnitude of Errol's efforts. If you are familiar with the fan fiction, Star Trek, you may well remember the episode when Captain James Tiberius Kirk was informed that his ship had become infested with a shapeshifting lesbian ninja.
How did he get about that? By the telephone game -- pajama party in the Captain's quarters where everyone would do shadow puppets, and as word spread, it became apparent, that only one person would never have thought to bring pajamas. You well remember the villainess being found in the laundry quarters, to be shot out of an airlock, on full spin.
But Errol did not know this, then. The hindsight of temporal space is never 20/20.
Who am I, you may ask? I am the businessman, and yes, you will normally find me in a cubicle, plodding away at some type of risk management scheme of the day or following the closest tail of a dame who smells the least of a Ponzi scheme.
But then, there was a peculiar reason for my being there, one in which, if you care enough to keep your ears on loan with us, (By the way, in business school I learned, we were given two ears and one mouth for a reason.), my reason for being there will eventually unfold.
The multi-specied beast did hear the boy call "Brywandil" and did assume that that was a guess, but Errol did jump in and interfere calling out, "No! Are you Brywandil?" to which, with the deft subtle communication of a crab claw, in harmony with the heavens, the creature, responded, "No.", and used his lion's mane to give a most puzzled look.
And yes, someone, it doesn't matter who, but it had to happen, did ask, "Wait! Is the answer Brywandil", and all was silent, and the creature, surprisingly resigned and clearly irriated (made more evident by the constant flapping of fins), declared that he would forgive any guesses as the riddle had not yet been posed.
By that time, it was lunch for me, and I chose to leave, having been with these people for four hours already, and knowing that I'd probably end up staying late...again. That did not affect my bottom line, because I knew at the end of the day we'd all be on the same page -- when I came back, ready with my "A" game, they told me the riddle.
In the middle of what I had known, but no one had yet told you, was called "the forest of sorrows", standing on a moss covered path, and entangled in ivy and thistle (THISTLE, get it?), under the shade of a mixed forest, a small breeze pronouncing the whisper of a million leaves, the creature uttered:
"I spy, with my little eye, something, something that is green."
The leaves stopped whispering as if to spoil the secret would cause them condemnation and all around us shadows loomed a little longer. A wolf bayed and someone remembered the sound of thrashing teeth.
And I swore to myself that I would remember, if only one thing, and that is, "There is no I in Team."