Corpse Lilies and Scaredy Crows

“So far so good” scoffed Fyn.  “It hasn’t been too traumatising up to this point” though he was still reeling from The Chameleons appearance.  He hated being manipulated even though the others had just accepted it seemingly.

He was right, it had been fairly easy for them up until this point, others were unsure though, Milo in particular.

“I’m feeling like there’s worse to come, lest not be foolish to assume we’ve won.

There’s trickery and strife I know, I can feel it writhe-ring throughout my bones.”

Fyn scoffed “What a silly little rhyming man you are Milo”

A dark formidable cloud was fast approaching in the distance, only time stood between it catching up with them, bringing darkness during the daytime hours.  They needed as many light hours as possible, it  was frightfully dark indeed on planet Yarn when it was dark.

In front of them, another field to hot foot through.  A notice was barely spotted half cocked behind some shriveled vines.  BEWARE THE BLIGHTYBUG! SHOULD YOU BE APPROACHED BY ONE, FOLLOW THESE PRECAUTIONS; 1.) SHOUT  LOUDLY  2.) WAVE HANDS IN THE AIR 3.) USE LANGUAGE (THESE PESTS ARE OFTEN OFFENDED BY PROFANITY AND WILL FLY AWAY)

“Oh bugger!” exclaimed Fyn, “Flaming blightybugs, they can give you a  nasty nip you know” he was looking at Milo. He peered into Mr. Bo’s lamp. “Did you hear that Mr. Bo? A blightybug non-the-less”

“Hmm” said Fyn “Blightybugs are normally found among a specific species of plant” although he could quite remember which one, he had been told before and remembered that it was only in full bloom for a week once a year. “So long as we’re calm, the blightybugs won’t bother us,”

The barren ground was sodden and the soil looked contaminated. You wouldn’t want to eat anything growing here. One by one, they group started to sink into the seemingly bottomless quagmire.

“Don’t make any harsh movements” yelled Fyn.  His voice echoed through the marshland. “The more you struggle, the likelier you are to be sucked down”  He freed himself, hooves and all and he pulled Milo and Twain free.  Mr. Bo had been tucked up safely in his lamp the whole time.

Twain and Fyn shook their fur simultaneously, they had that in common at least. Even Mr.Bo had come out to see what the fuss was about,  Milo had knocked x3 on his lamp, he couldn’t see why he should be getting off so lightly.

Slumped on a verge, they looked out and over the field. Rows upon rows of flowers in full bloom, armies of blightybugs  pollinating each cyclopean flower. They had a rather unorthodox method of pollination too. They’d chew on the flowers  guts, fly over to the next and spew the contents of it’s stomach up.  Pretty disgusting by anybodys standards.

Over the sound of spewing blightybugs was more importantly, the stomach churning stench. The graveolent whiff of the corpse lily. A flower stinking to low hell and of a hundred corpses rotting in the ground.  You wouldn’t want to send one of these to your loved one unless  perhaps you’d  discovered a skeleton in their closet.

“Ah yes, the Corpse Lilly” said Mr. Bo “What a godawful  whiff and it look as though they’re in full bloom” he added “Happens once a week out of the whole year, looks like you’ve come at the right time” he sniggered and disappeared into his lamp.  Milo tapped x3 on Mr. Bo’s lamp. “Yes?” he questioned as he was confronted by the angry faces.  “There’ll be no ‘copping out’ Mr. Bo” said Fyn. “We’re all in this together, we each have a responsibility to reach Dragons Cove and we each must obtain a sample from the Heliotrope Lake, there’ll be no tagging along, at some point, you will have to prove your worth, for it will be a very slow journey on your own, How many mph does a lamp travel roughly these days?” Mr. Bo huffed and slid back inside his lamp, he was rather cross and hurt.

It would be simply hopeless to trudge the sludge (and goodness knows what else) the stench was perfectly awful, morale was at an all time low.

Twain emerged from the shrubbery with various flowers he’d extracted from the ground.

“I have a plan” he said excitedly “If we were to each fashion a mask from vine, in the style of say... a basket. We could pack it to the brim with sweet smelling petals. It would keep out the stench and we’d easily make it across.” The other looked at him thoughtfully, he was right and it could work.  “The longer the basket, the better” he finished.

There was a flurry of hands, each trying to acquire as much vine as possible before any further mist settled on the field. There was only a thin layer of mist but the impending rain would bring more.

Roses and bluebells, rosemary and thyme. Weaving a basket that’s made out of vine. A shield for  my nose and a cure for the smell, We’ll walk along proudly where others have fell.” Milo was singing.  The others joined in, for it was rather a catchy tune.

In higher spirits than before, they secured the baskets upon their noses. There were a few giggles circulating the group, they looked like man-crows. If such an animal had failed to exist before then  it certainly did now. With the exception of Twain of course, he looked very perculiar with his new muzzle.

The beaky bunch set off slowly and cautiously across the field of corpse lilies.  The mist was thickening and the air was chewy but it also smelt pleasant thanks to Twain and his marvelous idea.

“Walk briskly but do not run and keep an eye open for the blightybug, I hear they give you a nasty nip” said Fyn. “You’re welcome” shouted a tiny voice from inside the lamp.

They had less than a mile to walk through the sludge, the putrid corpse lilies lay awkwardly in the field  like an obese person trying to get comfortable but resigning themselves to a lesser position.

It’s petals, not too dissimilar to a lions mane (sans the pride) were spattered in white spots. Tears of the devil thought Fyn.  He chuckled as a wicked thought transpired.  He reached out to the lamp Milo was carrying and tapped on it x3 with his large beastly horns. “Do join us in the field of foul Mr. Bo” laughed Fyn. Mr. Bo emerged with a clothes peg on his nose.  “You didn’t tell us you were harboring clothes pegs” Twain was very angry. “You didn’t ask” said Mr. Bo.

“Now then Bo” Fyn was interrupted by the growing fear rising up in Mr. Bo’s eyes. “Whatever is it?” asked Fyn, his natural instinct was to turn around but he really didn’t want to.

Amongst the now vaguely opaque mist and in the not too far distance, was the outline of a shabby scarecrow.  The scenery was suitably eerie for this type of meeting and there was certainly something sinister looking about the scarecrow.                  

“I don’t remember passing a scarecrow” said Fyn. His voice was shaky and isolated as if his only defense were these words, perhaps last words?

Milo shook his head and Twain looked at the ground, they looked equally as uncomfortable as the corpse lilies.  “Perhaps it’s the Chameleon?” whispered Twain “He has a long overcoat and hat not too dissimilar to that one”  Either way, they didn’t particularly want to wait around to find out, there was something deliciously dark and sinister about this particular scarecrow.

They shifted slowly onwards, looking like 3 very scared crows. (though quickly enough to avoid being sucked into the bog)  Almost as quiet as  mice.

“Oouuuchhhhhhhhhh” yelped Fyn. He flicked the blightybug from his mane. It cackled as it humbuzzed away gnashing it’s teeth.      

Milo looked over his shoulder “Crikey crikey look behind, he’s gaining on us I think you’ll find.  He looks much closer than he did before, let’s run for our lives like never before”

“You’re over reacting Milo” said Fyn shakily, he was convincing only himself and he wasn’t even doing a great job of that.  The scarecrow did look as though it had gotten closer though.

“Hello Hello Hello” Fyns voice echoed through the mist. The group watched in anticipation, watched for movement and watched for evidence of danger.  There was nothing, the scarecrow stool patiently sti.. “RUN! Run for your sad, twisted, pathetic little lives” shouted Fyn cantering off and leaving the others to fend for themselves. There was incredibly urgency in his voice. The other took flight also, running as fast as their legs would  carry them. The scarecrow was pacing towards them in a sweeping motion, almost like a whirlwind. It could move incredibly quick for a corpse.

The field was drowned with chorus “Ring a ring of roses, a basket on your noses.  An issue and issue you’re all drawn down”

In turn, they each felt a tight grasp around their various body parts. The sensation was one of being hoisted up as opposed to being drawn down (as previously suggested)

The group didn’t dare open their eyes, they barely dare breathe until everything was silent. It was then they opened their eyes.

Ekho towered above them “You called for me?” he asked. His voice boomed and resonated at low frequency.

“I don’t remember actually calling for you but I’m grateful you came anyway.” Said Fyn

“Any Echo is a call” stated the dragon. “Also I was following you, I hope you don’t mind? The treacherous path you are following will be dangerous at times, I knew you’d need hepl eventually. I wish to accompany you on the remaining journey, think it as payment for you saving my life in Lady Oktobers woodland”

A unanimous decision was made, not only would it be useful to have a real dragon on side, it would be pretty darn cool too”