The Sniffling and the Gnome

The first thing everyone notices about Snifflings, besides their small stature, blue fur, and leaf-shaped ears, is, well, all the sniffling. Pule found it quite unfair. Faeries illuminated the evening sky, unicorns summoned the rain, nymphs birthed rivers into existence, but she merely sniffled about, carrying the weight of the world in her noisy little nose.

So, she sought a shaman gnome whose witchy potions and divine dances could eradicate her inconvenience, whose radical remedies could remove her resentment.

“It’s painless. And quick,” he assured her as he anointed a pointy twig with sultry sap. “You’ll be a sniffleless Sniffling before sundown.” Nudging her nostrils with his magical medicine, her perpetual problem was permanently put right.

Pule unapologetically inhaled the aromatic air and hopped about the forest floor feeling fantastic. She spent her day sniffing the shrubs and whiffing the woodlands and fell asleep basking in the evening musk.

But she awoke to the sounds of sneezing sprites, unable to bubble their babbling brooks. She found feverish fauns foregoing their flutes, and in the distance, coughing krakens were causing chaos in the clouds.

“What happened?” Pule asked the nauseous gnome. “The fearies are fainting, the nymphs are napping, and the unicorns are uniquely unwell.”

The shaman shrugged. "The forest is sick, my dear, but you were born immune. You may have had the sniffles, but you kept the world in tune. Funny, how the full always wish to feast. And those who do the most think they do the least."