Complications were not part of Ran's life. She worked, breathed, dug, arranged in her Garden--a pocket world it seemed in the ruins of many here in strange Realm. Her father, even constant masked, outside of Nikolai became near dearest companion. The garden itself had never come for Nikolai. Ran was not yet sure that such a thing comforted her (for the Garden only traveled to those who needed peace and rest the most) or disturbed. (The garden also enjoyed being as fox-mischievous as its tender some times, by arriving in the middle of something to whisk the unwitting victim away. It did so to those Ran knew by name or liked.) It had done neither--and it worried her.
Forever two seasons here, eternal summer or eternal fall. Her father either did not like winter or the garden itself rejected it--so it was in bright yellow dappled sun under Oak tree, the flower prophet, some time barkeep, some time oddity, dug around the tree's roots.
The north, she offered the roots food and berries. Then the south, the east and finally the west. When she finished, she arose and trailed clockwise, fingertips on the bark of tree and whispered her thank-yous to it for its leaves and shade. The oak, stuffy thing as it was, informed her in the rush of sap and shake of leaf her offerings were sufficient and it was of course, the least he could do. He might have said something else, too, or was about to--when strangely Ran's entire garden fell silent.
Nothing in Ran's life or vocabulary quite prepared the flower prophet for the silence of the leaves. Every blade of grass, every needle of spruce, every whip of willow ceased to make noise.
Amber eyes widening slowly, unusual emotion and expression, the prophet leaned heavily on the tree.
Ran lifted fingertips toward her br--The stars blackening out. One by one by one until there was no light. Shapes, like giant bats looming closer and closer until the world and her breath and her thoughts and her garden were swallowed whole by the dark of strange figures. They became one, and then scattered like raindrops running off metal across the sky--disappearing. --ow. Startled by the oddity of the vision she jerked fingertips away and scrambled away from the tree. For so long, the Garden had been her buffer...Her shield from such things, a protector. And now--
In her ears the garden itself burst into riotous sound. The birds perched in trees sent warning calls and the oaks bellowed over the screeching of panicked pines. Even the grass beneath her feet hisssssed alarm while every lotus blossom moaned. A calamity, a war inside the womans head between which one screamed or panicked more...Ran felt the world lerch sideways.
--------------------------
He found her splayed along the grass beneath the oak tree, pale and unconscious. A thing perhaps good, so he thought. Rans father reached down to brush ruddy red hair, the exact shade of her mothers, from worried brow.
"They are coming," he murmured. And then--"I am sorry."
Sinister Plot
Forever two seasons here, eternal summer or eternal fall. Her father either did not like winter or the garden itself rejected it--so it was in bright yellow dappled sun under Oak tree, the flower prophet, some time barkeep, some time oddity, dug around the tree's roots.
The north, she offered the roots food and berries. Then the south, the east and finally the west. When she finished, she arose and trailed clockwise, fingertips on the bark of tree and whispered her thank-yous to it for its leaves and shade. The oak, stuffy thing as it was, informed her in the rush of sap and shake of leaf her offerings were sufficient and it was of course, the least he could do. He might have said something else, too, or was about to--when strangely Ran's entire garden fell silent.
Nothing in Ran's life or vocabulary quite prepared the flower prophet for the silence of the leaves. Every blade of grass, every needle of spruce, every whip of willow ceased to make noise.
Amber eyes widening slowly, unusual emotion and expression, the prophet leaned heavily on the tree.
Ran lifted fingertips toward her br--The stars blackening out. One by one by one until there was no light. Shapes, like giant bats looming closer and closer until the world and her breath and her thoughts and her garden were swallowed whole by the dark of strange figures. They became one, and then scattered like raindrops running off metal across the sky--disappearing. --ow. Startled by the oddity of the vision she jerked fingertips away and scrambled away from the tree. For so long, the Garden had been her buffer...Her shield from such things, a protector. And now--
In her ears the garden itself burst into riotous sound. The birds perched in trees sent warning calls and the oaks bellowed over the screeching of panicked pines. Even the grass beneath her feet hisssssed alarm while every lotus blossom moaned. A calamity, a war inside the womans head between which one screamed or panicked more...Ran felt the world lerch sideways.
--------------------------
He found her splayed along the grass beneath the oak tree, pale and unconscious. A thing perhaps good, so he thought. Rans father reached down to brush ruddy red hair, the exact shade of her mothers, from worried brow.
"They are coming," he murmured. And then--"I am sorry."
Sinister Plot