Little Plimpton jumped around fairy tales like a bee flits from flower to flower. He hid under bridges with trolls, lived with giants in the sky. He watched princesses lose their voices and their feet. Little Plimpton ate sweet porridge. He followed Alice down rabbit holes and had a nap with the Cheshire cat. He walked through light-touched kingdoms and ran with the wild antelope. He argued with fairies and drank with goblins. On one occasion, he even sang with the King of Thieves.
One day, Little Plimpton would have a story of his own. But for now he was happy to move between a thousand different worlds, drinking and eating and dancing in each one.
In studying fairy tales and children’s stories in university, I’ve found most of them to be actually, truly terrifying (thanks, Grimm brothers). But Little Plimpton doesn’t seem to mind. I think his story will be the greatest of them all.