Phillips Harbour
October 8, 1868. Afternoon.
The ghost girl laughs with delight at Yotee's string of suggestions. The expression almost makes her face look normal, despite the blue glow of her eyes. She follows in the coyote's wake as he leads them to the tree first. "I used to try climbing this tree," she says, reminiscing. "But Mama always made me stop and yelled at me for mussing my clothes, and Da hit me the last time, so I quit trying."
You should now! Yotee barks, running circles around her, and I'll bite anyone that tries to stop you.
"I should?" The ghost sounds startled, and she looks about nervously, as if expecting someone to show up any moment to stop her. "Are you sure? I don't know ... I'm too old for that now, aren't I?" She has the appearance of an adolescent human, perhaps around fourteen years old.
Oh no, you're not too old! Randall almost climbed it and he's ancient. He's so old he has no sense of humour. Yotee hops on his hind legs for two jumps before falling to all fours again. He has a look around while he's up, just in case someone is about to show up and stop her. It's a nice tree. Actually, the two have never been introduced.
The girl giggles again at Yotee's antics. "Is it? Do you know a lot of tees?" She reaches out to touch knotted trunk of the tree. A v froms in its trunk about three feet up, and thick, stout branches line it. The leaves on it have turned but not fallen yet: vibrant red and orange maple leaves fill its branches. "I always liked this one. It's solid and branchy. Hospitable. The tall ones with bare trunks don't look friendly."
The coyote puts his paws against the trunk. The notch is just low enough he's tempted to jump up and show how easy it is. Oh yes, I'm acquainted with loads of trees! There are a bunch deep in the forest, they whisper. Not everyone can hear it, but I bet you could. You should climb this one though, it's all low and friendly, it wants to be climbed. Never one to resist temptation for long, Yotee leaps up to demonstrate.
The girl stares, watching in wide-eyed fascination as the coyote leaps into the branches with the grace of a cat. As he scrambles from the V of the trunk to the next lower limb, and then higher still, she cries out. "All right ... I will! Wait for me!" She wraps her hands about the lower limbs, and pulls herself into the V. From there, she hauls herself along the sloped trunk to a thick branch higher up, following in Yotee's wake. Bits of bark and dirt cling to her white dress as she climbs.
Yotee makes it two-thirds of the way up before it occurs to him that coyotes really aren't seen in trees, and that he's not exactly sure how to get down. Aside from falling. He turns in a circle on a branch, then carefully leaps lower to meet the girl half-way. Yes! That's it, isn't it neat?
She nods, breathless and flushed, though the blue glow from her eyes washes out the shadows and colors beneath her eyebrows and above her cheekbones. Her skin has a strange sheen to it, her fingers dirty and knuckles scraped. When Yotee reaches her, she stops to sit on the limb. The branches do not stir beneath her touch, not even when she sits. It's as though she weighs nothing at all. The two are about twelve feet up, and half-hidden from the world by autumn leaves. "It's beautiful in here!" she exclaims. "Like being inside a fire that doesn't burn!" At some point, the hem of her dress tore, but she hasn't noticed yet.
It is. The coyote gazes at the leaves, his eyes matching their colours. He's noticed her torn dress and will have to keep her from noticing. Rush her to do other things, tarry and let her enjoy the moment, he's not sure how long ghosts have once they decide to live a little. Watch the world go by, or make it rush to try and keep up, he gazes at her seeking an answer, and tilts his head, trying to get a scratch behind his ears. Oh! I should take you to see mother, or the unicorn! Or we just watch for a while.
Through the veil of leaves surrounding their lofty perch, coyote and ghost can still see the street and the houses up the road. A couple of women are walking along the road, carrying heavy baskets and chatting. "Did I ever tell you my name?" the ghost asks, suddenly.
Yotee shakes his head. No, but I'd like to know.
"Marseilles!" she says, grinning with odd excitement. "You should call me Marseilles. And I want to meet the unicorn!" She turns around on the branch, then lowers herself with arms on the limb, at first sliding her torso against it, quite heedless of the damage to her dress or propriety. Then she shifts the grip of her hand and lowers herself further. Finally, she's extended full-length towards the ground, her feet dangling five or six feet above it. She swings by her hands, giggling, looking undecided about what to do next. Fall or find a place to put her feet?
Yotee is pretty sure the fall won't hurt her, she is dead after all, but there is no sense risking it. If he could get down, she could land on his back, and from what he's seen he could easily support her weight. Besides, he can't resist a race to the bottom. He starts leaping down, limb to limb, aiming to make the V of the tree trunks his last landing before the ground. Marseilles! Yes, I will call you that.
Hearing her name makes her giggle again, and without warning she releases her grip while he's still reaching the trunk's V. She falls, gold and orange leaves whirling down with her, shaken loose by the coyote's adventures. Marseilles lands badly, one leg straight and the other off-kilter, and she staggers for a moment before falling on her side against the ground. She rolls onto her back from there and laughs. "See Da! I didn't break my neck!"
Yes, perfect dismount! Yotee leaps from the tree to roll on the ground beside her. He wriggles about on his back. We should go look for the Unicorn.
"OK!" She leaps to her feet, kicking at fallen leaves. "Where does she live? Do you know her well? I always wanted to meet a unicorn. I'm a maiden! Unicorns are supposed to get along well with maidens. I always thought that was a good reason not to marry."
Yotee hops to his feet, and shakes off his collection of leaves and bark. His ears flap against his head, and the motion finally settles out through his tail. It sounds like a good reason to me. She's in the forest, I think. That's where everyone is looking for her. I've never met her, and I'm not a maiden, but I'm sure she'd like to meet you.
"Is your mother much like you?" the girl asks, as she starts towards the gate. She pauses after a few yards, then turns around and walks to the back of the property. "Don't you come in from under the hedge?"
I come in this way. It might be big enough for you, Randall wouldn't go under the hedge. Yotee runs about, sniffing, sticking his head into the leaves, Mother is... He stops, unable to easily describe her. She's... really big, and warm, like the sun on a mountainside, and wise. Oh, and brave! Smart too, really smart and caring. Not like me at all. I feel so relaxed around her, I'm sure you'd like her too.
"Your mother makes you relaxed?" Marseilles sounds impressed. She watches as the coyote scrambles beneath the gap in the hedge, then she follows him. She wriggles and squirms halfway through before getting stuck, torso on one side and legs on the other. "Unf!" The ghost braces her arms against the ground and strains to wriggle further forward, but it's as though something is holding her back.
She does. Yotee dives under the bushes, trying to find what has caught Marseilles and see what he can do to help her. He wriggles forward on his belly, nosing branches out of the way. Let her go. He whispers, to whatever is interfering.
"Your mother sounds lovely," Marseilles says, still struggling. She dips her head down so that Yotee can investigate past her. "But I want to meet the unicorn more. I've met lots of mothers but no unicorns."
After pushing his nose through the dense branches of the hedge, Yotee spots the source of the problem: the belt of the ghost's dress has caught on a bent spoke of the fence.
Bad Fence. Yotee frowns at it, then squirms to get a paw in there so he can press on the belt. Wriggle backwards Marseilles, you're caught, I'll push it off.
The ghost obeys, making another "oof!" noise as Yotee pushes on her belt to make it sure it won't hook on the fence again. She feels solid and real beneath his paw. For a moment, he is reminded of Mother's solidity, her more-than-real reality.
This does surprise him, and he's even more sure he should introduce the two of them. He holds his paw on her belt, guiding it beneath the fence so she can escape to the street. This was a simple trap, didn't have to gnaw off your leg to get free.
"That's good! I like my legs. I guess you've never been caught in a difficult trap, you have all of yours, too." Marseilles squirms the rest of the way out, acquiring a few more tears in her dress and a great deal more dirt. "There! Now. Show me the unicorn." She gestures imperiously to the world around them before putting her hands on her hips and waiting for him to lead on..
Yotee bounds up the street, It's this way! Shouldn't be far.
They stride up Shelley Street. The women carrying baskets have moved on by now, but it's daylight and more than a few people are around. As they walk, Yotee hears a short, abortive shriek from one of the houses. "What's that?" Marseilles says, alarmed. She turns her glowing blue eyes to the sound, and catches a brief glimpse of a weathered woman inside, before the woman slams the window's shutters closed.
I think they're afraid of me... because I don't have a... He strains to remember, a collar, so they know I don't belong to anyone. We should hurry along, before they send someone to catch me. Yotee starts romping around, if he can catch people's attention, they'll be less likely to notice anything unusual about Marseilles.
"Oh." Marseilles screws up her face in thought. "I guess that makes sense. You scared me the first time you came to visit. But you don't scare me any more."
As they continue down the street, a man glances their way and cries out in alarm, upsetting the wheelbarrow he's pushing. A half-dozen more heads turn -- some watching the spill of corn from the wheelbarrow, others looking to Yotee and Marseilles.
Too many heads are turning, but the spilt corn gives Yotee an idea. The best plan to avoid people would be to get off the road and head east into the farmer's fields; a lot of tall corn plants there haven't been harvested yet. We should go this way! He rubs against Marseilles' legs, trying to herd her away from the spectators and behind something that will hide them from sight.
"Hmm? Do unicorns like corn?" Marseilles asks. But she doesn't resist, and allows herself to be nudged into entering the fields.
With her face turned away from the other people on the streets, the ghost's appearance -- in tattered, filthy white dress -- is still eye-catching but no longer cause for significant alarm. A couple of people have come forward to help the man with the wheelbarrow.
I don't know what Unicorns eat. Maybe they eat sunshine, that would make them like corn. She probably eats hay, they're like horses? Do you know about Unicorns? Yotee bounces back and forth, spouting questions and taking a meandering route around the town and away from people.
Shortly after they enter the field, a man's voice calls out from Shalley Street behind them. "Hey! Hey, girl!" But Marseilles doesn't pay any attention to him. "I think they'd like hay," she says. "Or apples, maybe. Sugar cubes! Horses like sugar and unicorns are sweet so they're bound to like sugar cubes, too. Right?"
Yes! I don't know where to get those. I could find some honey maybe. Yotee keeps up the pace, taking a weaving path through the field, and trying not to leave any obvious tracks. He has a suspicion he's leaving more trace than Marseilles, and does his best to confuse any would-be pursuers following his.
The tall corn stalks they've entered are easily above the ghost's head, nevermind Yotee's, and they're soon lost to sight of the road. "Honey might work," Marseilles allows. "it's sweet and like sunshine."
From somewhere well behind them, Yotee hears the man's voice again. Faded by distance, it sounds like "Huh? Where'd they go?"
Honey! Yotee yaps, smacking his tongue against his muzzle as a memory of busy bees surfaces. He and Randall came across a hive while they were searching the forest. I know where some is! It's this way... or this way... I'll remember when I get closer, don't worry. He gambols through the cornfields.