marox_pass_the_journey fyn gula it was seven days on horseback through fields of coneflower and queen anne's lace. nabiscus stopped once to show everyone the drops of royal blood in the center of each one. and then forward to serpentine trails through birch and locust woods, along narrow paths made by fortunate deer. then upon reaching rynomari, the happyland, maylay's old friends, the spikers, hooked them up with carts pulled by teams of sixteen racoons. they walked on tiptoe and would only move in the lingering shadows of darkness. dancing water splashing on stoney brooks seranaded this lonely journey. they ate dried peaches that were packed in patagonia bags hanging on the racoons. anton said they tasted of winter. maylay remembered the spring copello taught him to graft and the days when the fragrance of peonies were then a memory. four days in the rank smelling pouches of the giant pelicans of entias, across the western sea, come with me on a trip we go. feeling the spray of turbulent waves, over islands of sleeping mermaids, streching in the dreams of having legs that dance. finally to the cirkelian shore. two more days on foot into the nivekian woods where the acrid smoke of dragon hung in the air like the unmitigated stench of undiscovered death. skunk it's not, but it doesn't have to be. the final day was one of complete rest, for all who work must sleep or innocence becomes lost and play dissolves into youthful longing. when roosters crowed forth the hour before dawn and newborn peeps peeked their downy heads out from the brood mother's protective wing, maylay woke. there were words he knew he must be able to say to nylem. there were actions he would have to watch his feet and hands perform, there was protocol, cultural etiquitte, and these things he tried to explain to his fellow warriors. "fuck it," nimbia said, "let's just go in, swords out, flags waving!" "and come back with copello...dead," nabiscus quickly countered. "that may have worked in the rains at pinoforia, but not here." "definately not here," maylay added. 010611 ... log burning fire straight from a camera into my heart. i don't have time to write. 060218 what's it to you? who go blather from