Version vom 21. Januar 2023, 19:18 Uhr

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Übersetzung zur Überprüfung

Gib nicht den Mitwirkenden die Schuld, sondern komm und hilf ihnen. 😎

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Translation to review

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Reference text ( Maintained text, used as reference ) :
Notes: (Nilstilar, 2023-02-05)

The storyteller takes a drink to clear her throat before starting.

I'm going to tell you the story of a yubo.

Not Ora, not even the Yubohoho you see in the Arena these days, nor a yubo with extraordinary features. No, no, this is the story of a most classical yubo.

Striped pajamas, a little white tail wagging, a big fleshy butt, and a propensity to relieve itself where he shouldn't. 

The storyteller wiggles to mimic the little white wiggling tail and the big fleshy butt.

In short: a yubo like we meet dozens of them everywhere.

This yubo was perched on the edge of a cliff and was staring down with a sad look.

Don't ask me what he was watching that way. There's nothing to see from the edge of the cliffs.

And I hear it's even more boring when you're down there. But that's another story, and in my opinion there are no yubos in this one. 

The storyteller takes a drink.

So our yubo looked lost in contemplation of the infinite. Ah, but maybe he was actually meditating? He must have had a bit the same head as the Zorais who look into the void.

The storyteller tries to look meditative and only succeeds in squinting stupidly.

No? Well, no, maybe not. So, where was I? Oh, yes. 

The storyteller takes a drink.

It was the time of Atysmas. And like all yubos in Atysmas' time, our yubo had ended up with horns and a red cap on headthat made it look even dumber than yubos usually look.

Even dumber than a yubo meditating on the edge of the cliff.

The storyteller ponders this and seems to conclude that, yes, it is possible to look even dumber than a meditating yubo.

The spirit of Atysmas who was passing by saw this yubo and wanted to play with it. He started to turn around it, to twiddle its red hat, to run in its false horns...

Except that the yubo didn't feel like laughing. He tried to bite the thing that was running around its head. He scratched its horns with its back leg to dislodge it.

The storyteller takes a drink.

Of course, that was of no use. The spirit of Atysmas is safe from tooth's or paw's swipes.

But it's not Anlor Winn either. The spirit of Atysoël, it would like everyone to be happy. So he stopped pestering the poor yubo, and sat down next to it to look down the cliff.

The storyteller reflects on the spirit of Atysmas and the yubo looking down the cliff.

They must have been pretty bored, really… 

The storyteller, noticing that her bottle is empty, picks up a new one from her bag.

I guess that's why, after a while, the spirit of Atysmas started to talk with the yubo.

"Why do you look so sad?" it asked.

The yubo shrugged. Have you ever seen a yubo shrug? I guarantee you it's worth its weight in shookilat.

The storyteller laughed heartily at her own joke.

In any case, the yubo shrugged. And it replied:

"Why should I be happy? The ragusses ate my parents."

"The homins killed my brothers and sisters and left their carcasses to rot in the grass."

"The yuba I loved is gone. Ragus, homin, or something else… who cares."

The yubo stood for a moment longer looking down the cliff, looking desperate. And then it added:

"And to boot, I look ridiculous with this thing on my head."

The spirit of Atysmas didn't respond right away. I guess it was a little embarrassed. Well, it had nothing to do with the yubo murders, but the ridiculous thing on the head was kind of its fault. Much of its fault, in fact.

The storyteller takes a drink.

After a very long time, the yubo finally said:

"I think I would just like to go to sleep. Or maybe watch the snow fall. Snow is beautiful. It's soothing. But there's no snow right now."

Another long moment passed. And then the spirit of Atysmas blew a little warmth on the yubo's head. Maybe it was its own way of giving a peck.

In any case, the yubo let out a big sigh, closed its eyes, and fell asleep.

The storyteller takes a drink.

And while it was sleeping, the yubo began to dream. It dreamed that it was watching the snow fall. And it felt better. Yes, that was really soothing to watch the snow fall.

Every once in a while it would quit watching the snow fall. And it would see homins walking in front of it. Homins who were not trying to kill it or beat it, but who looked happy and appeased.

Then the yubo would smile. And it resumed its contemplation of the falling snow.

The storyteller takes a drink.

Still… It'll probably want to relieve himself when it gets out of its snow globe, this yubo. 

The storyteller picks up her empty bottle and sits down again, laughing:

I would not like to be in place of the Spirit of Atysmas' boots at that time…

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