A faint rumble fell over the horizon. The sound itself waved and undulated likewise to the Toad-Road that produced it. Hundreds, thousands, millions! Of bricks, of toads, of roads, waved and undulated likewise to the sound they produced. And they leapt. Forward, onward. Faster! Higher! Stronger! They leapt.
Two figures. Both with names, but only one still its possession, rode atop the waves of stone, of marble, of toad. Two figures. Both breathing, but only one praying to an unknown god for the companion to keep doing so. Two figures. Surfing an ocean of There.
Gillan held onto her footing as much as she could. Thoughts of not falling to her doom currently fought for space in her mind with those that surrounded the Knight's situation. He seemed fine. In the now at least. He held on fine and did not exhibit any downward tendency.
The Toad-Road travelled quickly. It didn't dart across the landscape like the smaller kinds of Little People usually did, but they certainly kept up. With whom? With the corridor of sprites and pixies that had formed around the rocky tsunami.
They flew by so quickly that there was little more than but a splash of colour to see as they passed. Or a ribbon of sound. Or a cloud of fragrance. The noise of all that expression merged into one static, as if a thousand butterflies had flown into a very unspecified shade of purple. With melodies of years gone, current, and those to come surrounding them.
Gillan looked and listened at the spectacle in wonder. When she wasn't busy with not resisting the very real gravitational pull, of course. But in those moments of mind-freedom, she watched. And listened. And smelled. And felt.
Legions, hosts upon hosts of faeries strung together in their individuality like a rainbow of dragons. Like a hailstorm of kelpies. A brilliance of unicorns.
She closed her eyes and suddenly holding on wasn't an issue. She let go. She allowed — invited — the Here to guide her, to steer her, to move her. And it did. Through hills of glowing mushrooms, above caverns of scented rivers, and below a sky of chromatic prismasis.
And then the wolves came.
At first, invisible, yet their growling snouts were unveiled as they passed and scratched against the corridor of fae. Some had butterfly wings made of stained glass stuck in their heads. Others limited themselves to a few shards of music piercing their paws. Though wounded, it was still very much a pack. A hungry one at that.
Gillan had to wonder. Why? Did the wolves pursue them? In the Forest it was barely comprehensible — and with no time to ponder that — but Here? All scraps of logic tore into bits even smaller the more it didn't make sense.
But there was another task at hand. Another quest, another mission, another pusher-away of the big sad. Another thing to focus on. Twelve of them.
She had previously counted on the Knight to slay the beasts. And she still did...though maybe she preferred he concentrated on not falling off. The girl looked at him and didn't gasp in horror.
There was no time to gasp. As soon as she brought her sight back before her, the first of the wolves was already there. But what did she see?
Gillan saw a man whose brain was about to become loose meat-jelly. He stared forward, a thousand yards in sight. No expression, no wrinkle of joy, of sadness, of hate, of madness, riddling his face. He was [blank].
The girl drew her sword. With her feeling oneness with all the fae surrounding her — save for the wolves — feeling unity with the land Where she rode atop a wave of toads, she was ready.
The pack tried encircling her, but after a second-long scouting, a group realisation came upon them. It would be exceedingly difficult to surround someone when there was no way to go around them. A phalanx ensued.
They — the wolves — spread their formation as much as the Toad-Road allowed them, with the others forming ranks behind their brothers. Three wolves. Four rows. Even canines knew maths.
Gillan grabbed what part of her great kilt hung to the side kilt and wrapped it around the off-hand. Kilt and broadsword. As the forefathers intended. If her father saw her right now, wielding a sword with wolfsbane on the hilt facing a pack of fur-spelled monsters...he'd be proud? In a weird way, maybe.
The first row of wolves jumped towards the girl. Gillan felt something — a might, a strength, a power — surging through her. And it released.
With one strike she felled the closest beast. Its carcass exploded with shards of prismatic butterflies, all of them wounding all but her and the Knight. And the Toads. And the faeries. They just hurt the wolves.
All combatants staggered at the spectacle. It was truly a thing of beauty to see a thousand shades and colours flying through reality while drawing blood. Gillan awoke first. She wasted no time.
The girl spun through the canine formation. A vortex of blade and death, a riptide of sword and destruction, she went through them. Though none fell, all bled. All limped.
She was almost sorry for the creatures. One step at a time, they neared her. All held at least one leg in the air while trying to maintain any balance on the less-obliterated ones. They barked weakly and bit the air before her, no power left in their bodies for any leap or jump. What she did next was nought but mercy.
At a slow pace — she felt the faerie fire inside her burning with joy at delivering pain — she approached each beast. The girl didn't even have to try dodging their attacks. She walked through them with no cuts or thrusts, instead allowing them to try one last time at biting her. They tried. And they fell. She didn't know what exactly happened to them after the plunge. All she heard was the sound of a thousand razors and of a million lacerations. And a very wet landing.
Gillan turned to the Knight and felt the fire inside her being blown out. She saw him. A bumbling mess, lying breast-down on the Toad-Road, his hands near-bleeding as he held onto the sharp edges of each toad. The girl recalled her mission. The fire ceased.
She closed in on him further and made sure he was as well as he could be. She tied his greatsword once more so that it wouldn't meet the same fate as the wolves. Then she tried checking on his armour's strings, but she knew nothing of how they were supposed to look. So she trusted him on that one.
The Toad-Road travelled fast. The further they got, the quicker the landscape changed on the sides. Yet one thing remained constant. The colossal mushroom still loomed in the distance, still looking the same degree of far-awayness. It stared at the pilgrimage.
A faint rumble before the horizon. The sound itself waved and undulated likewise to the Toad-Road that produced it. Hundreds, thousands, millions! Of bricks, of toads, of roads, waved and undulated likewise to the sound they produced. And they stopped. Halted.
The amphibian bricks clicked into place as they mutated into their former shape. Soon, there was a normal road on the earth. And it led to an orchard. Pinks, reds, and whites all merged into an amalgamation of individuality and collectiveness, as all their beauty — separate and unified — greeted the travellers.
Small, red fruit hung from the trees. It hung there alongside flowers of pearl and ivory and hid behind them. Gillan stepped off the Toad-Road, the Knight hanging onto her shoulder. He yet breathed. She huffed after just a few steps and soon had to place him on the ground. She put his head against one of the trees in the most dignified manner she found possible. And entered. The Court of Orchards.
