The William Wormoeba Wellness Education Program

     Wormoebas were not always pests, in fact they were once a vital piece of the ecosystem of a Negg farm. That was when they conformed to the bounds of nature, before they lost the good sense Fyora gave them. But this writer digresses.

     Willy the Wormoeba changed all that. Yes, his name was Willy, which could be short for William but Wormoebas do not keep any identification so consider that an unverified fact. In any case, it’s an uninspired name for an uninspired Wormoeba. Well, perhaps that’s not fair. I suppose he must have thought himself quite inspiring when he tore up decades of good will and cooperation. Plus, he didn’t choose his name. But he did choose his actions on that fateful hot morning in the Month of Swimming when he decided that he simply would not munch any more mulch.

     See, in the golden days of last year, Wormoebas lived off of a diet of Minitheus Mulch. Exclusively Minitheus Mulch. For those unfamiliar, Minitheus are native to the rolling hills and fields of rural Altador, where the oldest and most esteemed Negg farms sit. The climate is perfect for curating premium vintage Neggs and though growing conditions can be fickle, the experienced green thumbed Negg farmer can use it to cultivate Neggs of the highest quality and vintage.

     Minitheus Mulch is a key component to that cultivation. Minitheus are voracious herbivores with a particular taste for dried leaves and branches that would otherwise need to be cut. They’re essentially free labour, and do the work of a tenured arborist for the sheer joy and love of the game. However, they are messy eaters, and the woody debris of their many meals is what is referred to as Minitheus Mulch. Some mulch is good for the Neggs, it provides fertile ground cover and stifles the growth of unwanted weeds. Too much mulch will suffocate a Negg bush and limit its fruit bearing capacity. Which is where the Wormoebas came in, before they lost their minds. Not only did they maintain optimal mulch levels with their daily munching, but their movement aerated the soil and enriched its fertilization.

     That is, until young William woke up one day and chose anarchy and destruction. This young Wormoeba was sick of Minitheus Mulch it seemed. He had had it for breakfast, he had had it for lunch, he had had it for tea time and yesterday’s brunch. Sometimes his mother muddled it into porridge or cooked it in stews, but most of the time they ate it raw, clean off the ground. Which is precisely how Willy was eating his pre-breakfast mulch when he decided he’d taken his last bite of the stuff.

     Surely, he thought in his deviant little mind, this cannot be the only edible thing around. His mother saw the pensive look her son often wore when he was thinking, an act heartily frowned upon amongst Wormoebas. Thinking led to wondering which could lead to climbing which could lead to becoming a Valeous’ lunch. Wormoebas were meant to keep their heads down and their mouths occupied with munching, something she had tried to instil in the boy to no avail. But this morning was a particularly pleasant one, with the humidity just high enough to make for prime morning mulch. So she let this one go. Perhaps he was pondering the quality of his meal.

     He was not.

     Willy was actually eyeing a nearby Negg bush, which at this time of year was beginning to bud and produce the flowers that would later become this season’s Purple Negg harvest. Or it would have had Willy not eyed it so intently and considered the taste of its ripe branches. He was familiar enough with the comings and going of the many Minitheus with whom he shared his picturesque home that he knew that those branches provided the mulch he was typically meant to munch. This morning he wondered if perhaps the mulch was much more tasty if munched straight from the vine.

     The thing about Willy was that once he had an idea in his head, he could think of nothing else until he saw it come to fruition. Surely there was a reason Minitheus chose these branches and never cleaned up after themselves. What backwards country bumpkins they must think these Wormoebas to be, happy to feast on the crumbs from their metaphorical plates. He knew he had to try a branch, just once. But his mother would never allow him to climb high enough on a Negg bush to take a proper bite. He would have to be clever about it.

     He spent the rest of his mealtime sowing his plan, and when his mother and brothers called to him to come back to their Wormoeba hole for their mid-morning nap, he knew just what needed to be done.

     “I’ll be there in a minute,” he called, knowing his mother was meticulous about their nap schedule. “You were right Ma, the humidity is perfect and I want a few more bites of this delicious moistened mulch.”

     His mother beamed at him and told him not to be too much longer. Had he been a thoughtful, empathetic Wormoeba who considered the thoughts and feelings of others, he might have felt some guilt towards her misdirected pride. But he was not, so he thought only of the speed at which he needed to climb once she disappeared to pull off his plot.

     Once he was certain the coast was clear, he dashed up the nearest branch, knocking several Ladyblurgs from their resting place beneath the Negg leaves. He paid their disgruntled jeers no mind as he found the perfect dried branch, with its browning leaves ripe for the nearest Minitheus, and took a big bite.

     It was like an explosion had gone off on his tiny Wormoeba tastebuds. He was right. This was the good stuff. As moist as the mulch after a thunderstorm without being soggy, and with at least fifty percent more woodiness. The taste, the texture, it all came together in perfect harmony and Willy knew right then and there that he could never, ever go back.

     For the next week he pushed his mulch around whilst his family ate, careful to take enough of a bite when one of them was watching so as not to raise any suspicions and stayed back each morning. His mother was elated at his newfound interest in mulching. She had no idea that once they waddled off, bellies full, he would dash up the nearest bush and gorge himself on a dried branch as if he was a Minitheus and not a Wormoeba.

     It wasn’t long before he ventured beyond the branches, first tasting a dried leaf which of course was delicious and paired excellently with a mouthful of branch bark. Then he grew even more bold, daring to taste a healthy branch. The taste was nice, but the texture was a little too chewy. It almost deterred him from trying the green leaves, but Willy was nothing if not delusional in his determination, and try a green leaf he did. These, he declared, were the absolute best meal a Wormoeba could find. Never mind the holes it left or the stress it put on the plant. What did Willy care about any of that?

     He did, however, care about his brothers. And as the days dragged on he began to feel increasingly guilty that they were stuck munching mulch while he feasted on the cream of the crop. So one morning, a little woozy from the sap he often suckled from the veins of the leaves, he plucked a small leaf from the branch and carried it back to their wormhole.Careful not to wake his mother, he nudged his youngest brother Warren awake and quickly motioned for him to keep his voice down.

     “What is it?” Warren whispered, always eager to join in the schemes of his older brother.

     “Taste this,” Willy said, breaking off a piece of the leaf and thrusting it in his brother’s face. He watched as his brother took his first bite, the delight washing across his face, and promptly devoured it.

     “Is there more?” He asked.

     Willy nodded, but told him to wait until his other brothers had a turn. Eager for more, Warren helped wake Weston and Wart while Willy prepared two more portions. Their reactions were the same as Warren’s, pure delight and hunger for more. It didn’t take them long before they polished off the entire leaf, leaving not as much as a speck for their mother to find. Once they were satisfied, they had many questions for Willy. Where did you get this? How did you bring it back without being caught? And most importantly, when can they have more?

     “Tomorrow,” Willy said, and told them all about his schemings over the last few weeks. They had always admired their eldest brother, but this latest achievement had them completely devoted. They agreed to take turns, so as not to raise suspicions from their mother, and share in the bounty in secret during nap time. This would be their secret, they were to share it with no one.

     But things have a way of getting out, particularly when orchestrated by chatty young Wormoebas with a penchant for gossip. It wasn’t long before other Wormoebas caught on and started skipping their nap times too. And once that started, it was only a matter of time before the grown ups found out.

     Their mother was furious. She was devastated, though not entirely surprised, that William had been the orchestrator of this madness. He had to sit and listen to an exceptionally long talking to where she reiterated how disappointed she was, how dangerously he’d acted, and how promptly he was to put an end to it. The other elder Wormoebas agreed, and set up a schedule to keep watch and make sure that no more youngsters would climb the bushes any more.

     Willy was undeterred by these developments. He had tasted the sweet nectar of luxury and he was not about to put down his chalice and return to the slop of the past. Clever as always, he worked slowly to sow the seeds of curiosity in the guards. A little mention of taste here, another slip of succulence there, until he was sure they would need to taste the leaves for themselves. Sure enough, a few mornings later, one of the guards slipped up a branch and brought a leaf down himself. It was all over after that.

     To the dismay of everyone else who thrived in this well maintained ecosystem, the Wormoebas flocked to the bushes in droves. They were so enthralled with their newfound bounty that they didn’t even bother to bring the leaves down, they just climbed on up and ate them clean off the branch. Nothing was sacred anymore. Every bush in sight was riddled with holes and the Neggs suffered for it.

     We tried everything to deter them. We put nets around the bushes, hoping to keep them off, but they wiggled their way through the holes in the netting. We slathered Negg oil on the branches, hoping they’d slide off, but their sticky mucus kept them stuck right on. We even tried spraying the leaves with the spiciest of Negg chilli sauce, but it turns out Wormoebas love spicy food. Nothing worked.

     Each day the Wormoeobas would take to the Negg bushes, chewing holes in their leaves. Even William’s mother relented and joined in on the fun. As the summer wore on, they grew bolder and began to climb higher. The leaves midway up the bush were leafier and hardier, best for days with ample cloud coverage. Three quarters of the way, with more sun exposure, they were lighter and more refreshing. Eventually the Wormoebas abandoned the wisdom they once held dear and climbed all the way to the topmost branches. Here the leaves had full sun exposure and were almost as sweet as the Neggs their buds bore. Gone were their worries of predators, they were conquering Wormoebas and the canopy belonged to them.

     Of course, always at the front of the line was William. If the colony was set to go three quarters of the way up a bush, he would go five sixths of the way. So naturally, on a particularly sweltering day towards the end of the Month of Hiding - which I will add is what they should have been doing - the Wormoebas had elected that this was the perfect day for the sweet nectar of canopy foliage and up they climbed.

     Sweet was the nectar, sweeter than any day previous. The sugars that should have gone to the fruit had been redistributed to its leaves in one last desperate attempt to generate enough energy to produce a decent Negg harvest. Vegetation is amazing that way, in its relentless pursuit of fruit production. But its efforts were spent on an afternoon Wormeoba feast, as they gorged themselves on leaves so sweet they could have been plucked from a candy shoppe.

     Nobody enjoyed themselves more than Willy. It turns out he had quite the sweet tooth, or sweet salivary glands I suppose as Wormoebas don’t really have teeth. He never would have discovered that about himself, he pondered as he savoured each bite, had he resigned himself to a life of mulch munching.

     Unbeknownst to the rest of his clan, Willy had ventured to the topmost branch. He had his sights set on tasting the highest leaf he could find. Which was how he found himself basked in the summer sun, atop a leaf, perfectly exposed. But it was worth it for truly these were the best leaves he had ever tasted. He chewed his first clean to the stem and scuttled over to begin his second, which was as delicious as the first. In fact, Willy was so absorbed in his meal that he didn’t see the Valeous coming.

     You would think that watching Willy be carried off in the beak of a Valeous would be enough to get those Wormoebas back in the mulch where their munching belonged. But once something is known, it can never be unknown. The seeds were out of the Negg, as we say around here. And the tastiness of the plant itself was well and truly known. Rather than give up their newfound meal, the Wormoebas adapted. They set up guard schedules, and learned to call out when a Valeous approached. They learned to duck underneath the leaves, like those Ladyblurgs Willy knocked asunder on his first ascent all those days ago. They thrived.

     Our Negg bushes, on the other hand, did not.

     So that is what necessitated the creation of the William Wormoeba Wellness Education Program. Where we try and teach the Wormoebas about sensible things, like proper nutrition. For truthfully a summer of gorging had left them all rather plump and mulch, while less exciting, is far more nutrient dense than its leafy counterpart. And a trim waistline is far more difficult for a Valeous to grab.

     The Negg Farmer’s Association invested a ton of resources into curriculum development and we ran courses all through the off season. Only time will tell if it's done any good. But let me assure you, we Negg Farmers are a hardy bunch. We have cultivated Neggs since time immemorial and we will continue to farm for as long as the soil remains fertile, though perhaps with a few more Wormoeba nets.

     The End.