Pillowing her thumbs onto the gazebo, enrolling turbs of begunias accross the barricade, Aïko was pandiculating in the garden, in the Garden of Hesperides, a few galoping horses from the Heosphoros. Upon the resting voyagers, Ladon was circling the ecliptical pole in his eternal pool, scouted by lines of rampant tawny oals, kingly napping on their regal Catbirds. Nightwings had kept a late Espial of sort, all eyes onto the odd couple transitioning. It was a reign of the false dusk, a tapestry of interplanetary clouds. Staring at alpha Draconis, the Traveller of the Night mumbled, covered by the shouldering mist of his gaslamp : Where ?
Absorbed by a tin note released in the invisible, brought to her nose like the attic's fragrance of her forgotten kitchen garden, Aïko had pulled herself to her escort. In size, Rodahuscha was nothing more than a washed up balooning whale; sitting down the blue cobalt pigments of two collapsing horizons. On the last steps of his mumblings, laughing then bursting of whispers, Rodahuscha stared at the two-pieced Bailanese papery he was matching to coordinate.
One of the Thirteen Travellers, as once hailed in grander occasions, was thinking the way back from Ladon's tail, drawing his sighs from a star map without clear cardinals; as they were turning blind in Hesperides, for days adrift. Despite his toolery and an odd-spanning life, Rodahuscha was very much a vagabond, missing crucial inklings about this anchorage. The Garden has a tendency to lose their wanderers. Three pebbles and a twine should tell you anything about your latitude, from the casting shadows; although orienting required great manoeuvers in the Rabbit's Vision. Looking down at Aïko's trinkets layed onto the gazebo's concrete, he envisioned - was there a clue in her wreathing ?
He had picked up the baton from Grandfather; carrying the Child safely into the new season, walking among the phaesant's eyes of spring she had pointed along a tweet. Sugoi ! she had ventured respectfully, to the intense figure nodding among the midday walks - they were definitely lost.
A procession appeared under the path of Espaliers they would be crossing the morrow. Bellringers were casting the Ol'night away. All travellers around the Hesperide had to come to some sort of agreement. It is soon time for a curfew, the lonely voice issued. Dreams don't await. Rodahuscha lighted his orange incense, bringing a cloudy tangerine of protection as they went unnoticed behind a veil.
The Child ran in a robe of night, slipping into her portable futon matress, hiding behind her wool. The rigorous sight appeared over her canopy; covered her toes. With his torned eyes he looked upon her obedient reasoning. I gave my best Equestrian tak of the Three-Gorges, only to get this futon out of the Mountain of Nô. Sure they were furious at first about the antiquity, but I'm sure they don't regret having made a transaction with one of the Thirteen.
Rodahuscha had always prepared her bed, bringing her trinkets back below her buckwheat pillow, which made her feel safely guarded. In front of him, she immediately pretended to snore, and soon to be dreaming. Despite his growls, the long-eared owl waited everlasting hours, awaken in a deep deprivation, for her to sleep unperturbed. Some Illusions were roving around the wall of the incense. Some even tried to cross. This Child needs safe passage. He nodded pensively.
The blanket had protective embroidery sold by Tanaphon, presenting expensive bridal talisman of the South-East. Emperors used to sleep in it… If you really believe in this stuff. It is quicker to scare a Child than a waste of precious breath.
Soon after she had slipped from the day, Rodahuscha felt it, from the Kingfisher star; the fertile winds of the Year caressing her forehead; nourished by rays of invisible magnitude. I promised I would, and I will, he said out loud. I served no hoax. Did anyone ever complained about a trade with the great Sons of Agonya ? An ironic silence ensued the taunt. Oh, you are just wind.
As he turned his head back to the horizon behind the veil, he saw the cosmic eerie light pointing westward. Spring Equinox is upon us, he reminded at Aïko pointing of the phaesant's eyes. Aïko had already told me. It would be good compass. They needed an exit by the ninth solar term. Yesterday, the Sun reached celestial longitude of sixty-three degrees.
They aimed the Inn of the Thirteen Travellers; to meet Blondel and the others before reaching the Kotorii. Many exit paths would be crowded, as Grain in Ear would soon zenith. Planters would cross the mountain passes, searching for soils to impregnate. It was a respected tradition in Hesperides. If you believed in this stuff. Already, razoring roads attracted yellow eyes in the forests.
During the night on the gazebo, the Child dreamt of the night sky, when she saw the Heavens turning from left to right at each swings from her carrier's map. Staring at his balainese papery, he didn't see how all the worlds were revolving.