“I’m not the one who’s just jumped right out of a tree and landed halfway down the road without breaking a sweat,” Flora added, rolling up one of her sil- embroidered sleeves. “Why didn’t you just land on the roof and be done with it.”
Haymarlen glanced across the field. Sure enough, the oxen-team had come to a halt, and the straw-hatted driver was staring at them as if an entire carnival was parading up the road. Although his attention was soon taken by a lone mule careering across the stretch the oxen had just multi-furrowed.
“I didn’t give the donkeys a fright,” Haymarlen replied, pointing at the bounding form.
“It’s a mule,” said Flora. “A mule. Don’t you start getting confused, I’ve already got one miss-identifier to deal with, and you’re not going to talk me out of it.”
“But it’s still not too late for you to step away from this,” Haymarlen continued. “Be the bigger…”
Flora stopped and looked at Haymarlen. “…Bigger…” Haymarlen added.
“…What…” Flora almost purred. “And don’t say man, because we’re not males, or anything remotely linked to this bunch of non-descriptives.”
“Person,” said Haymarlen. “Be the bigger person.”
“One problem,” Flora smiled, flew past Haymarlen and thundered three knocks on the front door of the first cottage. “I’m that already.”
Haymarlen groaned and spun away from the door, whilst Flora rolled up the other sleeve. The tap-tap of approaching footsteps came from the further side of the door, along with a more distant voice.
“If that’s you Blankétown, I’ll douse you in the Darn. Why do you think there’s a knocker out there for? Decora…tio…”
The door opened and the near-strawberry hued face of the fellow named Mr Pipcastle looked back, then turned to a contorted gape. “…You’re not Blankétown…” he managed to whisper.
“I’m much worse,” Flora whispered, clenching a fist. “If you don’t go back