He was just outside the city, close enough to still hear the drums resonating down the cobblestone streets.
Overhead the sky was changing, deepening at the call of twilight. On one side the blue expanse was nearly black, and the first stars began to shy reveal themselves. On the other end the horizon exploded with color, and the retreating sun limned the clouds in gold. Back in the city bonfires were already being lit to celebrate the night, and he could smell the smoke that drifted through the gates.
But Ipomoea had his back turned to it all, his nose drifting dangerously close to the ground as he wandered across the fields surrounding the Night Court. He followed a path beaten into the dirt, and all around him tall stalks of grass waved gently, reaching over to brush themselves against his sides as he passed. His cherry eyes regarded them warmly, but returned to the task at hand.
It was not often that he got away from the bustle of the capitol, but the appaloosa relished every opportunity. Inside those walls the world seemed to spin impossibly fast, always moving, always providing him with something new to see or do or experience. But out here time slowed once more, and the plants spoke softly, and the prairie dogs and mountain plovers and cottontail rabbits were patient and comfortable in his presence.
Occasionally he came across a flower, and only then would he pause and cry out in delight. The flowers of the Night Court were unlike those in Delumine, and he collected them with joy. Carefully he dug into the earth to find their roots, refusing to sever any unnecessarily. He freed the flower, stalk, and the earth into which they’d been planted, adding them to the bottom of the large wicker basket that floated alongside him.
His collection grew, until his basket was filled with dozens of the foreign blossoms. Ipomoea did not yet know when he would be returning home - but he was confident that his magic would keep the delicate plants alive until he did. Already he was anticipating the princess’ joy upon his return, when he planned to present her with the new additions to the greenhouse.
A dreamlike smile settled across his face as he came across another flower, and he dug his spade into the damp ground once more. A tall blue chicory flower trembled just overhead, its petals dancing in the stray breeze.
He was too preoccupied in his task, and his thoughts of home, to pay attention to the goings-on around him.
let our soulds be scattered by the wind
let us grow, wild and free,
tall and brave,
in the places that we dream,
in the places where our longings are filled,
let us grow between the cracks of brokenness,
and we will make everythingbeautiful
@Runaveig ! isn't liquid time great
”here am i!“
