twinkle.
“See, even Moonbole isn’t impressed at Mr Hergewick's misnomer,” said Flora. “You probably want to march right up to Yellow Breech’s front door and give that would-be naturalist a piece of your mind; don’t you.”
The sunlight danced for a second time over the pair, momentarily illuminating the frost pastel highlights in Haymarlen’s crimson lake hair.
“Only we do not possess the power to unlock you from your shackles,” Flora sighed placing a palm against the branch she was lying upon.
“Thank goodness…” Haymarlen exhaled, but quietly enough that neither her companion, nor Moonbole overheard. The last thing she needed was a disturbance caused by a personage taking exception to the miss-identification made by the Bustlers, and bringing unnecessary attention from around about. Especially from the cottages yonder.
“But I can do this,” Flora added, slipping off the branch and gliding toward the bottom. Haymarlen opened her mouth but was met by the feather-impact of Flora’s feet connecting with the road; causing a mule to bray in alarm.
“Flora, you can’t-”
“Can, Haye,” came the reply, accompanied by Flora’s form marching past the two other mules to Haymarlen dreaded where. Groaning she slipped off her branch, but kept her arms outstretched, attaching to then rotating on a limb lower down, that sent her soaring out of the tree and into the lamp-bright sunlight. For a moment Haymarlen had to put a hand against her eyebrows. But even in mid- flight she could spot the jumpy mules; the driver trying to calm them down; the furrowed field she would prefer not to land in, and the long-striding, spectrum- blue dressed form of Flora ahead, underneath, then behind as she alighted onto the road.
“Don’t try and stop me Haye,” Flora warned, as she strode past. “We’re not supposed to be attracting attention Flor.”
“Don’t call me Flor.”
“Is it worth blowing our cover?”