The Squirrel in the Garden

The garden had been abandoned for some time when Charlotte stumbled across it. It immediately enchanted her childish imagination with its heavy, moss-covered stones and its overgrown fauna; a place thick with the sounds of clicking beetles and creaking vines, and the smell of rot in the pollen-laden air. It looked as though it could hide all kinds of half-forgotten secrets. She remembered some distant memory of her father and her in bed reading and she wondered if, like the wardrobe, there might be a whole realm hidden in the garden’s obscure foliage. A realm where she might be queen and live a new, nobler, life.
She took a step across the threshold. The first thing she did was turn back towards the feeble cast-iron archway that marked the entrance. It was barely a foot behind her, yet the golden rays of sunlight that fell just beyond seemed miles away. Still furious at her mother, she approached a bird-bath some ten or fifteen metres away. It was a small chipped concave stone which stood at a crossroad of foot paths. The bath was dry and grimy, containing only slow-moving insects that clumsily fenced with strange mandibles and colourful shells. Charlotte lowered a chubby finger and poked one of the beetles on a head that sat atop a folded neck longer than the beetle’s body. It reacted slowly and Charlotte giggled as it craned its weird face up to look at her. It went back to its business like an old man making tea and Charlotte walked away wondering if time moved at the same speed for little things like beetles as it did for bigger things like her.
She carried on the path which brought her to a hidden church. She was close enough that she could walk up and touch its strange stonework. Its walls were a manic patchwork of stones that fit together like a strange jigsaw. She found herself searching for its end, allowing her eyes to follow the pitch-black glossy stone further and further as the tower rose into the thicket of trees. Eventually, Charlotte could crane her neck no more and she stumbled backwards, nearly losing balance. The longer she stared the more it appeared as though the wall disappeared into a new horizon with the tower as a road.
A road she could walk on.
With her eyes still fixed on the sky she tentatively raised a foot and pressed it flat against the wall. Without any further thought, or even a sense of wonder, she raised the other and began to walk up the outside face of the church.
Eventually, the treeline parted enough for her to see through it. Her eyes were instantly captured by a distant break in the wall’s stonework. There was a small and circular inlet far away, and Charlotte suspected that it was some kind of window. She had always yearned to see a church’s stained-glass colours up close but had found herself restrained at every service she had attended. Wanting to see one now, she walked faster towards it, ignoring the fact that the inlet before her was but one of thousands in view along a tower that stretched towards infinity. She felt only excitement at the thought of touching the glass but before she could escape the canopy completely something brushed against her shoulder. She saw the tree branches over her head, point at her like fingers. She took a moment to reach out and dislodge bits of rotting leaves cradled in the branches. They fell spinning towards the ground like pencil shavings tumbling into a bin. When she looked back from the twirling litter she saw a squirrel close to her face and for the first time since her adventure she felt fear.
It was a blind and stupid-looking squirrel, fat, like some overfed classroom pet. It sat on a branch and was perched deliberately close to Charlotte’s face, staring into her eyes from above with a predatory gaze. It chewed mindlessly at its own paws, dripping blood that looked to Charlotte like it was falling the wrong way, all the while it stared at her with pale and scratched corneas. Both it and her remained perfectly still as they stared at one another and when something fell in the distance and the squirrel darted away after it Charlotte felt immense relief. She had no idea why it had frightened her as much as it had, but she was happy to hurry away from it.
She finally reached the window and was pleased with what she saw. In leading her above the treeline she had been granted a vision of the world around her that was unlike anything she had seen before. Some part of her looked at the ground, hundreds of feet below, and felt only curiosity. A feeling that was both satisfied and intensified as she turned back and leaned down to trace the strange patterns of the foot-wide stained-glass window with its brightly-coloured segments bound by thin wires. The pattern made her think of sweets in a glass jar, or the spray of water off fruit, or the smell of her father’s cider. It was strange but pleasant and as her fingers ran across it she felt a peculiar warmth, like the time she had stolen a sip of brandy during a grownup party.
She stood up and started moving towards the next window along, carrying herself upwards. She paused to occasionally trace another pattern across another jewelled glass circle but otherwise kept walking for what felt like hours. It came to an end only when she finally met another pilgrim along the strange road. An odd robed figure dragging a cart laden with sacks of assorted size that wobbled with each and every stone the wheels rattled over. He was muttering to himself as he struggled with the burden the wagon when he stopped to check the sagging wood of the axle’s beams. It looked to Charlotte as though the frame was getting ready to break at any moment and she winced when she saw the man kick the side of the cart in frustration, expecting the beam to suddenly snap. Delicately she spoke up.
“Hello.”
The figure turned with a terrible start. Noticing the young girl he immediately began to pat himself down while managing an over-eager grin. Charlotte saw now that the man was not robed or clothed in any usual way, but rather he was actually an enlarged man-shaped robe. His grin was a crescent tear across the round turban that was, much to Charlotte’s confusion, his entire head. Despite this, the way his dark eyes, jagged mouth, and rumpled nose moved and contorted as he spoke seemed quite natural, even friendly.
“G’evenin’ m’lady!” he cried. “You’ve been most lucky to stumble upon S’Lerrin for he, today and only today, is in possession of a vast wealth of un-imag-unabul objects and trinkets to please a young girl such as yourself.” Charlotte frowned and quizzically leaned head across to look at the dirty pile of hessian sacks piled up on S’Lerrin’s cart.
“Are you a mummy?” she asked, referring to the old films her father had watched.
“Well I’ve certainly been through a few launders and a man can’t always account for every companion he meets on a long and lonely pilgrim’s road so I imagine it’s quite possible some lucky dishrag has found herself nursing a silken babe who bears a resemblance to my own strong-lined outline although whether that makes me the mother, a mammalian concept, is entirely sub—”
Charlotte giggled.
“What on Earth are you talking about?” she asked. S’Lerrin blushed. Charlotte was reminded of a jack-o-lantern.
“Never mind,” he said nervously. “I didn’t mean to brag! It’s just a personal question. I mean, are you a mother?”
“No,” Charlotte said. “I have one though.”
“That’s good,” S’Lerrin said with a nod. “Mothers are so loving, aren’t they! Perhaps your mother might like a…”
Charlotte remembered sharply why she had left the house that morning and rudely snapped,
“No! I won’t be getting her anything.”
S’Lerrin fumbled a little and pointed hesitantly to his cart. “Are you sure?” he asked. “You haven’t even looked.”
“No,” Charlotte repeated. “Besides, I have no money. I’m only meant to be going for a quick stroll but I’ve gotten a little lost. I should be going back.” Charlotte turned around and looked down towards the garden but noticed that it was, inexplicably, out of sight. Looking at the horizon she noticed that no real details of her own world remained visible; just an indistinct curtain of green rolling hills that seemed to occupy both the sky and the ground. It was kaleidoscopic. Charlotte felt worried when she realised that the grey skyline of London was no longer visible. She found herself asking, for the first time that day, if any of her experiences were real. “I think I should go home,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
S’Lerrin looked around and shrugged.
“Shouldn’t we all,” he replied. “I’ve been stuck wandering this bloody place for what feels like days now.” S’Lerrin let go of the cart, leaving it list gently forward.
“Can’t believe the bloody cheek… customs took my troxen, if you can believe it! All because they wouldn’t know genuine leather if it had been stripped from their own arse!”
“My father hates customs,” Charlotte added; unsure of what the word meant but always eager to take expressions overheard from grownups and try to put them to use.
“A wise man,” S’Lerrin nodded.
“He works for a company that sells coal overseas,” Charlotte repeated ad-verbatim from her mother. She was pleased with the way she delivered the words.
S’Lerrin’s eyes lit up.
“Coal?” he muttered. “Shiny, metallic material, used for jewellery?”
“No,” Charlotte answered, looking confused. “That’s called gold.”
“Oh,” S’Lerrin stuttered. “Of course. Of course. That’s what we call it too.”
“Coal is worth a lot though, father says it’s much more valuable than gold and that The Empire was built on it.”
Charlotte noticed S’Lerrin squirm at her words and as soon as she had finished speaking he asked,
“Do you have any?”
“Any…?”
“Any coal?” S’Lerrin said. “That I uh, that I might trade? I’m always on the lookout for exotic new items.”
“No,” Charlotte muttered. Feeling uncertain she placed her hands in her pockets and opened her coat up to show that she had nothing of value on her. Just a coat, a scarf, and a floral dress her mother had picked. S’Lerrin reacted to this, subtly, by moving forward with his arms open in a friendly manner.
“I do have things of value to trade. Don’t let the cart fool you, I’m just a bit down on my luck because of customs.”
“I don’t—”
S’Lerrin hushed her before turning to rummage through his cart. Charlotte glimpsed some colourful things as he searched—was that glowing teal oil floating in an invisible vase?—and the noises that came from each sack were an assortment of clunks, clinks, bumps and clangs that were always cut short as the cord binding each sack was pulled shut. It was like listening to someone impatiently flip through TV channels.
“Now this is absolutely precious!” he declared, revealing a small package in his hands that he unfolded gently to reveal a glistening teal brooch. “It’s unbelievably valuable and it comes straight from the sands of Titan, permitting of course one is in a reality where Titan has sands. Its jewel was pulled from the cornea of a galactic leviathan and polished by the zero-gravity dwelling Stollids who, despite their odour, are magnificent artisans. The surrounding metal work comes from the marvellous and delicate fingers of the Alac foundry-workers and is made of a beautiful alloy that, or at least they tell me, was pillaged from the remains of a ship so old and so remote that no known realm, dimension, galaxy or planet knows of its origins. I believe,” he said rolling his eyes upwards to think intently, “it was called Voyager.”
S'Leric’s hollow eyes widened as he looked back down and waited for Charlotte’s reaction. She leaned over it and examined it carefully. She had to admit, it was beautiful.
“I don’t have…”
“Oh, I’m sure,” S’Lerrin said with a smile. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m only interested in short-term returns. Rather I think you could consider this something like a gift.”
S’Lerrin leaned forward, closer to the young girl, and gingerly placed the brooch around her neck, letting the swollen gem fall against her stomach so she could feel its weight.
“Like a gift…?” Charlotte muttered coyly while turning it over in her fingers.
“Aha,” S’Lerrin snorted loudly, “you are smart! But yes, something like a gift,” he said with a pointed gesture. “You can have it but I would much appreciate it if you could find the time to maybe put a good word in for S’Lerrin when you see your father. This… this… emissary of Empires?”
“When I…” Charlotte muttered under her breath, feeling something inside of her mind unlock. “I need to go home! My father will be home soon!” she cried, and she twisted and turned looking at the strange mess of a world that surrounded her with a sort of panic on her face. The ground beneath her feet stretched into a thousand directions without ever changing its shape from a single linear strip. It was clearly still the church tower but wherever it had taken her was far away from the garden. It was also giving her a powerful migraine and she felt ever-so-slightly intoxicated. “Oh no,” she gasped. “Oh no-no-no-no. What if he comes back and I’m not there!?”
She was stopped only when she felt a warm but soft hand grip her shoulder. It was S’Lerrin looking at her with some concern.
“I remember the direction you came from,” he said. “If you are lost, that is?”
“Where?” Charlotte cried. “Where?”
S’Lerrin pointed towards the garden in the distance. Charlotte shook her head, swearing that it had not been so obviously present, and took off immediately. She ran furiously, focusing only on the rhythm of her footfalls and the way her destination wobbled as she ran but never grew closer. It was not long before she had to stop, her breathing deep and strained. She was startled when she heard someone approaching, but it was only S’Lerrin loping towards her.
“For goodness sake, girl,” he panted heavily as he slowed to stop next to her. “It’s too far to run. I’ll have to show you how, and you’ll have to take your bloody time. I’m not an athlete!”
-
It had been hours since she had first met S’Lerrin and he hadn’t stopped talking. And yet she didn’t really mind; she stayed focused on the strange sight of the ground below and the elastic distance of this strange world was so confusing that S’Lerrin’s voice hardly registered. Still, she was concerned at the lack of progress. When she had asked about this S’Lerrin had muttered something about relative space and the power of observation.
“A watched tillin never pops!” he had declared with a smile. “In other words you must relax. Let your mind wander. It won’t work otherwise,” he added. “It’s hard to describe but if you keep staring and thinking about it, it’s much less likely to work.” But she could not relax, nor let her mind wander, no matter how hard she tried. She desperately wanted to go home. This homesickness was eating away at her. She didn’t even notice when S’Lerrin stopped talking.
“What’s bothering you?” he eventually asked.
“It’s my father,” she replied, hearing the catch in her voice. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I’m afraid if I don’t go home I won’t see him again.” Charlotte glanced off towards the rolling sky and watched as purple daffodils fluttered along in the breeze. It was like glimpsing reflections in puddles during a rainstorm; nothing stayed still.
“We’ll get you home,” S’Lerrin said with a smile.
“No, you don’t understand. He left before I ever came here,” Charlotte replied. “I don’t even know if he’ll ever come back.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“No,” Charlotte said shaking her head, her voice growing shrill. “You don’t know that!”
“I suppose I don’t,” S’Lerrin said, a little taken aback. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Charlotte shrugged. “He just… he hasn’t come home. No one will tell me what’s happening but if I’m not home when he gets back he may leave again and I won’t see him and I don’t know if he’ll ever come back after that because mum is always rude to him and I think he only comes back for me… and what if he thinks something is wrong because I don’t want him to think I’ll never come back because then he’ll never come back and I’ll never ever see him and I only wanted to give my mother something to sweat over—”
S’Lerrin reached forward and calmed Charlotte with a gentle hug. She pulled away for a moment but feeling something inside her chest rise up she rushed forward so quickly that it surprised S’Lerrin. There she began to sob, going limp in his arms and hanging there like clothes on a wash line as she let go of all restraint. Each deep breath burned in her chest, and each exhale was sloppy and uncontrolled and coated S’Lerrin’s shoulder in thin clear snot. She endured this for some time until eventually whatever had ignited was spent and the fire inside her chest died, leaving her with a headache and sore sinuses. She pulled back to look at S’Lerrin. A long string of clear mucus ran from her upper lip to S’Lerrin’s shoulder and she wiped it away with her hand, feeling embarrassed.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Oh, it’s okay,” S’Lerrin said before reaching into his own nose and pulling out a long green thread of wool. It stuck to one of his fingers and he flicked it towards Charlotte who burst out laughing at the strange sight. “I uh,” S’Lerrin stuttered and Charlotte could see he was thinking intensely. “I hope your father comes back soon,” he said. Charlotte gave a curt nod and smiled.
“Thank you.”
“Now, come here,” he said as he brought her close once more and pointed to one of the horizons they faced. Moments later a sort of fish-tail broke through the parting clouds. It was a silky and membranous sail like the waving tail of a tropical fish. But despite its rainbow-splendour and regal elegance, Charlotte saw that the muscles powering it were like the thick muscled knots of a horse. Even the church tower with its cosmic geometry looked like a needle in comparison to the sheer mass of the half-glimpsed serpent.
“What is it?” Charlotte asked.
“I don’t know,” S’Lerrin answered. “I just get chills when something is about to break through from one place to the next. I never know what it’ll be, but it’s usually something amazing. It’s a habit you pick up from walking between realities. Talking about which,” he turned Charlotte back around to face their destination, “I think it’s about time we kept moving towards your own.”
This time, as they walked, Charlotte thought of more than just her destination. Instead she thought of the last time she had seen her father and the promise he had made to see her soon. Even as young as she was, she had disliked the vagueness of his wording, and the uncertainty had played on her ever since. Charlotte, in passing, thumbed the heavy brooch around her neck and began to doubt whether she would ever be able to pass S’Lerrin’s message on.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to give you any coal. In fact,” she unclasped the brooch and held it in her hand, “I don’t think it’d be fair for me to keep this.”
“Oh no,” S’Lerrin shook his head. “Don’t be silly. It was a gift.”
“It was like a gift,” Charlotte responded.
“Well then like a gift,” S’Lerrin said, “it can be given freely.”
“No that’s not…” Charlotte struggled for a moment to think of a retort until an idea came into her mind, and she began to unfurl her scarf. “What if I gave you this? It’s all I have that I can give. I bought it with my pocket money. I’d give you something else but… everything else has been a gift from either nana or Santa… or mum.”
The realisation humbled Charlotte.
“Pssh,” S’Lerrin snorted softly. “We made a deal, I made a promise, so it’s yours. I won’t take it from you.”
“No,” Charlotte insisted. “It’s not a deal, or a trade, if you don’t get something back and I might never even see my father again to tell him about you. I won’t be patronised!” This was a word Charlotte had heard her mother say to her father and was now employing to great success, even if she didn’t know what it meant.
“Oh alright then,” he said while taking the scarf. “I wouldn’t want to condescend.”
-
As they had approached the Earth the kaleidoscopic weirdness of the church tower had receded and things appeared a little more normal now, even if Charlotte was distinctly aware that she was standing on a wall. The most upsetting part of the return journey, however, was the dusty, muted appearance of the round stained-glass windows. They had been so vivid one way—making her think of blackberries that left purple stains on fingertips, the sweet smell of bottled apple juice, and dark green mint that grew in thick bushes near her grandmother’s backdoor—but they were now plain and sooty, and the patterns lazy and manic like an untalented sketch. Some part of Charlotte felt distinctly deceived.
“This isn’t a normal garden, is it?” she asked once they stood facing the canopy from above.
“There’s no easy way to name or think of a place like this,” S’Lerrin answered. “I’ve heard some people compare them to cobwebs, springing up in places no one goes to anymore. Sometimes they’re even worshipped by the people who find them! Most of the stories about them are just fairy-tales though. All I know, or all that anyone knows for sure, is that these gardens have guardians and they don’t stay in one place for very long. They’re also filled with ways in and out… I say, you don’t remember the way you came in, do you?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said. “As a matter of fact, I do. I remember it quite clearly. There was a bird-bath.”
“That much is easy, at least. I’ll have to find my own way back, I suppose.”
S’Lerrin took a step forward and Charlotte followed. They passed through the canopy easily enough but S’Lerrin stopped for a moment to examine a thin trickle of blood that had been streaked across the wall. Charlotte thought of the squirrel she had seen and wondered if she should tell him. But, before she had the chance, he was up and moving again. Charlotte quickly noticed that for all of S’Lerrin’s friendly confidence this place was frightening for him. She hoped he would not be made to stay here longer than he needed to just because of her.
He maintained the lead until they approached the ground. Charlotte, feeling more herself than before, was struck by just how bizarre it felt to change direction by ninety degrees without sensing any change. Her hair didn’t move, like she thought it might. It felt a little like the whole world, and gravity itself, moved to accommodate her. She was almost having fun when she glanced back and saw the look on S’Lerrin’s face as he approached the same transition. She held out her hand for him, and S’Lerrin took it to steady himself as he stepped down onto the floor.
“It’s not far,” Charlotte said as she pointed towards the path she’d followed. As she did so something bath-time warm and cherry-red landed on her hand. She looked at it, and rolled it between her fingertips, arm still outstretched, before looking up and seeing the squirrel staring back down at her.
“Oh no,” she heard S’Lerrin mutter.
That’s when her eyes started to hurt, and her head started to throb, and something behind the squirrel started to unfold. Just as she caught a glimpse of the roiling mass of eyes and legs and glass-like teeth as long as her arm, S’Lerrin grabbed her wrist and began to run. All around them came leaves falling like an ochre rain. Whatever was chasing them disturbed the trees above and Charlotte watched as a calliper-like legs, black and shiny, came down all around them. She felt S’Lerrin change direction as he pulled hard on her sleeve, causing her to lose her footing. But S’Lerrin was stronger than he looked and with his one arm he held the girl up by her wrist and dragged her along. Charlotte could feel the toes of her shoes scraping along the paving stones. She was trying to lift them awkwardly to regain her footing when she saw that they were nearing the bird-bath.
Another leg, pointed like a geometry-compass, slammed down with tremendous force. The leg was slender, almost feminine—like a stiletto heel stretched to caricature—but it crumpled the stone like an origami distraction. Charlotte felt a cold shadow over take them as it passed overhead. S’Lerrin crouched low, picked her up and cradled her in his arms. Charlotte tried to twist and turn so she could see what was chasing them, but whatever it was, it was completely hidden.
It was also dead-ahead. She squeezed her eyes tight, feeling S’Lerrin’s long strides carry them closer to the monster, and thought this was surely the end. But she was surprised when a sense of weightlessness came over her, followed by a sudden impact and a sense of rolling. She quickly realised that S’Lerrin had thrown himself into a diving roll and was now rising, with some difficulty, on the other side with Charlotte still in his arms.
She finally reopened her eyes and saw that she was slung over S’Lerrin’s shoulder. Behind them both she glimpsed a dark shape as it rose back into the canopy, disturbing the leaves above like a fin breaking water. She craned her neck around to see if they were close to the exit and felt her heart rise at the sight of the metal arch. They were closer than she could have hoped. She looked at S’Lerrin, ready to tell him that this was the place, but was silenced by his furrowed brow and grim determination.
There was a look on his face she recognised, though she couldn’t remember where.
Charlotte was launched forward once more without warning. This time she hit the ground hard and rolled without S’Lerrin to protect her. She opened her eyes, rubbing her sore knees and elbows, and saw S’Lerrin’s hand by her chest, wriggling desperately as he gripped her brooch. Behind him, his calf had been pierced by one of the pointed legs that descended from the woodland ceiling.
He was being dragged backwards. The only thing that stopped him was the brooch. Charlotte grabbed his wrist but he seemed to only wriggle harder. Charlotte noticed that he was staring at her with a look of despair and that was when she realised he wasn’t gripping the brooch; he had been snagged by one of its edges.
He was struggling, violently, to pull it loose. Charlotte reached down and grabbed his hand, bunching his fingers together, trying to stop him. For a moment he looked up at her, furious, but his anger melted quickly and he smiled with a kind of exhaustion.
“I’ll be fine!” he cried, trying very hard, and failing, to look unfazed. “You have to go!”
Charlotte was screaming her protests when the shape lowered itself into view. It was dreadful. She noticed the startling contrast between the sleek lines of an arachnid body that culminated in a muddled mess of mouth parts. And there were for a few fleeting moments, as the shape shook its quarry like a worrying dog, that that the leech-like maw reassembled itself into the shape of the squirrel and the body behind it disappeared from perception. It was like the illusions her father showed her, where the image of a young woman would suddenly transform into an old crone. Charlotte was horrified to think that any living thing could rewrite her vision without her permission, using it like insects using camouflage.
All along its body, hairs as thick as paper-clips vibrated and whistled, and its fat abdomen dripped red fluid that slicked the floor from fleshy arterial openings. The monster smelt distinctly sweet and it made Charlotte think of fruit juice left out in the sun; the glass slowly filling with flies trapped in the thick sugar water. For a second, she actually wanted to taste the fluid—it looked so sweet—and she started to feel heady and unafraid. S’Lerrin took advantage of Charlotte’s distraction, and with a grim determination he ripped his arm free with a sound of paper tearing, shearing the fabric of his arm so severely that it lost all shape and turned into lifeless ribbon. Charlotte came through her haze when she heard his scream, becoming lucid just in time to see him reach out with his free arm and her through the archway. She cried out as she passed through the threshold, hearing him cry something that ended with,
“…it’s a promise!”
-
Charlotte awoke in a bed, her mother and father standing above her. As she looked at them a curious thought came into her mind, one she could not explain.
So that is where I have seen that look before, she thought.
But before she could dissect it her mother was hugging her like a vice. Charlotte, for a moment, wondered how a stick-thin woman like her mother could hug her like that but then she remembered the way S’Lerrin had cradled her effortlessly while running circles around a monster.
Grown-ups had a quiet strength she hadn’t noticed.
That morning was spent hearing a nervous old man swear on his life that Charlotte had appeared out of a thick roadside hedge like some kind of ghost. Charlotte saw enough of the mood between the man and her father to see that some arguments had been had. For a moment, she considered telling the whole story but she couldn’t even convince herself it had been real. She still admitted no recollection of a crash, and said she remembered storming away from her mother. She took responsibility, mainly because she wanted the man gone. In fact despite the immense joy she had first felt at seeing her father she wanted both him and her mother gone too. From the moment Charlotte had remembered the garden she had been filled with a great and sullen grief. She remembered what happened to S’Lerrin quite clearly and it hurt to think of it. Eventually, with visiting hours over, Charlotte was left alone in the hospital bed to fall asleep while her mother and father—quite confused—sat outside her door.
Finally alone, she turned into the pillow and began to cry about all the things that had upset her. She lay there for some time, weeping, and stopped only when she felt something beneath slipped between the pillow and its case. It felt like a small card, but when she took it out Charlotte saw that it was a photograph.
It showed S’Lerrin, stood with his cart on a rolling blue dune with a bubblegum-pink sky. His arm, somehow re-knitted from the wool of Charlotte’s bright red scarf, held a lump of coal.
I keep my promises! He had written on the back, followed by, (Also this coal is marvellous stuff. Tastes awful but the Stollids are most excited at how it burns. They send their regards.)
Love,
S’Lerrin
Category:Places
Category:Beings
Category:Weird