Cylus 14, 717
"Excuse me sir. Could you tell me which end is up and which is down on this map?" Arlo stopped and asked the old man who was snoozing beside the narrow forest path.
The man looked old. Very old. As old as the ages and he wore a funny velveteen suit. His shoes were pointed and curled up at the toes. He wore a funny pointed hat too, and his white beard was so long that the end of it curled and pooled in his lap. He was slouched with his back against a tree that had grown up around him, and was surrounded by a thick carpet of bright red poppies. From the looks of him, Arlo thought he might have been napping there for arcs on end.
"Sir? This map?" It was no good. The old man only snorted in his sleep so Arlo moved on through the forest. The young man was tall, and he wore a very fine suit made of red trousers and a blue velvet doublet with gold epilets at his shoulders.
His boots were tall and polished, his hair perfectly groomed beneath a blue velvet cap with a red plume that bounced with each stride he took. His teeth perfectly aligned and perfectly white. His posture was beyond reproach. Regal even. And Charming.
The trees were impossibly tall in the forest, it's floor perfectly green, well kept and uncluttered. Even the stones were smooth and seemed strategically placed. A bluebird sang a merry tune and hopped from branch to branch, following him as he went. He crossed a narrow bridge that arched over a tumbling stream, and tipped his cap to three goats as he passed by, and they tipped their curling horns in return. But with suspicion swimming in their dark brown eyes.
"Little bit gruff," he concluded of the three as he stopped to study his map again. three X's, a curling dotted line between each of them, a few trees and structures thrown in and he couldn't make heads or tails of it. He should have asked more questions when the little man had handed it to him.
That none of this struck the young dreamwalker as strange, was strange in itself. But it seemed that particular varieties of tea, brewed on the sly and secreted away to bed unbenownst to his camp mates, didn't exactly lend themselves to lucidity. Not the usual kind anyway. But on he went, not knowing if his map was up end up as it should be, and not knowing where it would take him no matter which way he went. He only stopped once, pausing to pluck a lone shiny red apple off a tree. Too much to resist, he polished the thing on his doublet, raised it up to take a bite, and walked on.
The man looked old. Very old. As old as the ages and he wore a funny velveteen suit. His shoes were pointed and curled up at the toes. He wore a funny pointed hat too, and his white beard was so long that the end of it curled and pooled in his lap. He was slouched with his back against a tree that had grown up around him, and was surrounded by a thick carpet of bright red poppies. From the looks of him, Arlo thought he might have been napping there for arcs on end.
"Sir? This map?" It was no good. The old man only snorted in his sleep so Arlo moved on through the forest. The young man was tall, and he wore a very fine suit made of red trousers and a blue velvet doublet with gold epilets at his shoulders.
His boots were tall and polished, his hair perfectly groomed beneath a blue velvet cap with a red plume that bounced with each stride he took. His teeth perfectly aligned and perfectly white. His posture was beyond reproach. Regal even. And Charming.
The trees were impossibly tall in the forest, it's floor perfectly green, well kept and uncluttered. Even the stones were smooth and seemed strategically placed. A bluebird sang a merry tune and hopped from branch to branch, following him as he went. He crossed a narrow bridge that arched over a tumbling stream, and tipped his cap to three goats as he passed by, and they tipped their curling horns in return. But with suspicion swimming in their dark brown eyes.
"Little bit gruff," he concluded of the three as he stopped to study his map again. three X's, a curling dotted line between each of them, a few trees and structures thrown in and he couldn't make heads or tails of it. He should have asked more questions when the little man had handed it to him.
That none of this struck the young dreamwalker as strange, was strange in itself. But it seemed that particular varieties of tea, brewed on the sly and secreted away to bed unbenownst to his camp mates, didn't exactly lend themselves to lucidity. Not the usual kind anyway. But on he went, not knowing if his map was up end up as it should be, and not knowing where it would take him no matter which way he went. He only stopped once, pausing to pluck a lone shiny red apple off a tree. Too much to resist, he polished the thing on his doublet, raised it up to take a bite, and walked on.
