braided your name into the earth
It was a small wonder the honeybees had not swarmed to me in force.
Flowers in every shape, color, and size filled the bags on each side of my body. Almost all of them were purchased in bulk from Delumine, but there were a few desert beauties-- like fragrant sage, bundled and dried, and autumn-budding rosemary, with its little pink florets. The real Solterran exports were deeper in the bags, hidden beneath the shadows of lavish lilies. There a discerning eye would find peyote buttons, humble but powerful, and seed pods of poppy, from which (of course) a powerful sedative could be milked. Solterran specialties. The money-makers of tonight, with a little luck and the right clients.
The goods were not my product-- I was just the proverbial mule. But I did manage to squeeze in a few items of my own making among the rest. A wind-up bird, a small mosaic of sea glass, little trinkets and novelties like that. I was most fond of a bronze rose made of discarded clock parts, its petals blooming and unblooming with the twist of a gear. Technically they were all made of scrap and discard. Trash. But sometimes their whimsy caught the fancy of someone with too much money for their own good, and for a bit of coin my little creations found a happy new home.
It was my first time in Denocte. Kirk had been trying to get me to work the night markets there for ages. He was a trader of many things, only some of them illicit, and although he paid well it took humbling to work with him. Tonight he had me paint a golden eye in the center of my forehead. I didn’t ask why-- of course I never asked questions, and that’s why he liked me-- but I suspect it was a secret symbol, for those who knew to look deeper into my wares for the things that could not be openly advertised.
For a long time, I had no interest in leaving Solterra. But things were changing. I was changing, magic surging and growing in me until I was full to bursting with it. All the dreams I walked, all the dreamers I met… All the lives I did not live were knocking at the door.
They were knocking, and I no longer could ignore them.
Apparently the market stalls in Denocte were mostly stationary, for I caught a lot of attention as I ambled down the cobbled street beneath my veritable mountain of flowers. The evening was ramping up to a lively night, I could feel it in the air. Most people donned costumes, for what reason I was not yet sure. Kirk had forgotten to tell me it was a costume party, or maybe he did not know. Regardless, I had to take out a sack of coins and jingle it, so that the festive crowd would know my wares were indeed for sale and not some strange outfit.
I angled my body against the flow of the crowd, searching faces for interest or pity. I sold a handful of flowers to a young mare, then helped her make a crown of them. A sad looking man bought a single lily. Otherwise my pockets were empty. No sharks out yet, no big sales... but the night was still young, and I hopeful. The sky was still colored with the last light of the sun, a brilliant burnt orange, although a single bold star had emerged low on the horizon.
And then I saw her. My dreamer.
(I thought of them all as my dreamers but truth be told I was as much theirs as they were mine)
I never forgot a dream, but hers was one of the special few that haunted me. But did she remember? Through the crowd I pressed closer to her, jangling my coins in a poor imitation of the way other boys would yell “Flowers! Come get your flowers! Roses, tulips, tiger lilies!” I tried to catch her eye across the sea of strangers. And against all hope, all reason, I prayed to a god I did not trust in for her to remember me.
@Warset <3
