Ghost and coyote take a wending path through cornfields, disused brush, and fresh-mown hay as they make their ways to the pine forest north of town. They quest in search of a honey to catch a unicorn with; the coyote is sure he knows the way. En route, they cross a few roads, but manage to avoid other people and attracting additional attention to Marseilles.
Despite this, Marseilles grows edgier, odder as they continue. For a time, she's adventurous, triumphant over small discoveries, like a trail through the brush or a butterfly on a late-blooming flower. But as they cross the unattended hay field, newly baled hay in square bundles strewn about, she becomes more tentative. "Should I be here?" she asks, plaintively. "Shouldn't I go home? Won't my parents be angry? I'm too far away from the house ... "
Yotee bounds about, re-appearing as he pushes through a bush, a small canopy of leaves lifting as his head thrusts through. Parents, responsibility, things he is very unfamiliar with. We need to go further to find the unicorn, I've never seen one in town. Nor anywhere else for that matter. He snuffs at Marseilles, Are you okay?
She smells of dirt, of hay and corn, her once-white dress torn and grimy after their adventures so far. Beneath the surface odors is a faint girl-smell, not as sharp as Yotee's used to in real people, and tinged by anxeity. Marseilles bites her lip and twists her skirt arround her hands. "I don't know. Am I all right? Am I allowed?"
The pine trees are still a mile or so away, beyond the hay field and on the far side of a road. The hive Yotee recalls seeing in his previous explorations is a bit closer, somewhere on the fringes of another hay field across the road.
The coyote is a little confused, he's never known ghosts to have a bedtime. Oh yes, of course! He answers instantly, he's always allowed, it's even expected. Rules are meant to be broken. Although what applies to him isn't always suitable for little spirits. He is gripped in a reflective moment. Flowers don't move, but that flower I found for you was in danger, so I had to move it. People... don't stay when they die, but I don't know where they are supposed to go. We could ask the bees! Bees know lots of things, especially about flowers.
It's not his straightest chain of thought.
Marseilles hesitates. "All right," she says. "If you're sure. But aren't bees dangerous? What if they sting us?"
That's usually what happens in fact. Yotee tries to recall a time he hasn't been stung, but he can't remember a time when he was interested in bees without being interested in their honey, which understandably upsets them. They usually warn first and they aren't too far away. If it doesn't work out we can head back. It's this way. No... it's this way. No, no. This way, I'm sure. He chases around in a few directions before picking the one he's most confident in and crosses the road.
The ghost girl plucks at her skirt and wears an anxious look, but she follows Yotee nonetheless. After crossing the road, the coyote meanders this way and that in the field of unmown hay, until he hears the distinct buzzing of bees.
His ears perk up, and he runs in a happy circle around the ghost girl. I found them, they're over here! He barks and plunges through the field. Hay! Bees! Hey Bees! I have a question!
The bees circle around their hive, a waxy construct built around the intersection of a dead tree and a cluster of rocks, near the edge of the field. Clover and some lingering wildflowers grow in the scrub beyond the tilled ground, and the bees give some attention to that, and some to their hive, and none at all to Yotee or Marseilles. Their buzzing is low and untroubled -- now.
Marseilles hesitates again as the coyote plunges forward. The blue glow around her eyes has dimmed somewhat; the effect is still unnatural, but it also gives her face a bruised look, skin pale and sallow in the eerie light.
Where do ghosts go? Yotee barks, drawing closer to the hive. He's trying to think of the answer himself, it's something he might have known once, but bees are much better at keeping things, especially memories. Well, maybe not, but do keep honey. He's not here for that, not yet. He's about to bark again when Marseilles' appearance registers. Bruises. He's hurting her. He's not doing the right thing. He hesitates.
The nearest bees buzz at Yotee's latest bark, a warning noise as he approaches the hive. They cluster between him and the hive, but since he's paused, they don't move to attack. At least not en masse. A few strays might be threatening him, or might just be searching the hay for nectar. If they know the answer to his question, they're not saying so.
The bees said to go home. Yotee lopes towards Marseilles, herding her back. She smells anxious, but not sick, and otherwise much the same as she was before. People get tired, and maybe ghosts get tired, Mother certainly sleeps alot, so perhaps Marseilles needs to rest too. He encourages, We can go out again, you've come quite far today, it's very good.
"Oh." The single syllable conveys evident relief, but beneath that something else. Disappointment? "All right." Marseilles turns about and starts tramping back through the field. "I guess I'm not supposed to go out after all."
The coyote runs out ahead of the girl and sits down, turning to face her, looking up with his eyes gleaming in the light. They're just bees, you don't have to listen to them if you don't want to. It can be dangerous, away from familiar things, and sometimes bad things happen. Sometimes good things happen too. You're free, to do anything you want. What do you want to do? He keeps looking at her face, judging the glow emanating from her eyes.
Marseilles stops, a flash of blue burning brighter for just a moment in her eyes. Then she crouches before the coyote, hugging her knees to her chest. "I don't know." She rocks a little, to and fro. "I'm scared. What if the bees are right? I've been at the house so long. I don't know what to do outside it. There's ... so much."
What's right for bees isn't always right for people. The same could be said about coyotes. He tries to think what people do, not Randall, he doesn't behave right, but other people. You've forgotten how to do anything else? People... visit each other, and talk, and play games, and go to church. There was something else, some activity they considered vital he could never quite grasp. It nags at his mind. Oh, and work. You'll want to skip that.
"I'd like to do what people do," Marseilles says. "But I can't. People don't want to see me anymore." She scuffs one toe against the ground, although her foot leaves no marks in the dirt. "And I wanted to see a unicorn," she adds, staring at the ground. "Maybe it'd be better if you brought the unicorn to me. And your mother. They're not stuck like me."
Behind them, the bees buzz unperturbed, a low background drone. The sun hangs near the western horizon as the day grows late, and Yotee's shadow falls stark and black behind him. Marseilles's wavers, pale and uncertain against the hay that ripples in a light breeze.
Sure they can, they saw you earlier... He's answering the wrong fear. I think they'd want to if you were properly introduced, and... everyone is supposed to go to church. He remembers what he was told to tell Randall. A ghost appearing during the service, that shouldn't be a surprise, anymore than him showing up, right? I could bring Mother to visit, but you've already travelled much more than she has lately. I'm very proud. I'll bring the Unicorn too, when I find it, whatever will make you happy. He gently rests a paw on her knee, pawing consolingly.
"They saw me," Marseilles says, "but they didn't want to see me." She hunches a little more, her head close to her tucked knees and Yotee's paw. "Maybe the unicorn wouldn't want to see me either." For a moment, she rests her chin against Yotee's paw and closes her eyes. The glow fades almost entirely when her eyelids cover them, making her look like a normal, if unkempt, girl.
I'm sure it would... they're just... very hard to find. Yotee's desire to produce a unicorn out of thin air is quite strong, but they don't exactly come when called, and he's not even sure what one is. People have to look very hard, a couple I met came from very far away to find one, and they're still looking. You shouldn't be disappointed if you don't find one the first time.
A wistful smile appears on her face. "Maybe the unicorn thinks no one wants to see her, either." Marseilles nudges Yotee's paw with her chin, then stands. Slowly, she starts back the way they came.
I'll be sure to tell her how wrong she is when I find her. She has a huge waiting list. Three scheduled appointments is overwhelming for Yotee at least. He bounds after, leaping back and forth across Marseilles' path. Why were you told to stay inside all the time?
She stops, thinking. "I ... It's safer there. I've always been there. I belong there. All the bad things happen outside. That's what Mama said."
He scratches an ear, Where did Mama go?
"Away. Outside. And she never came back." Marseilles wraps her arms around her shoulders, and steps forward again, hesitant, as if thinking of continuing to head home, but reluctant to go around Yotee when he's blocking her path.
Yotee gets up and out of her way, following more than leading. He looks at his shadow, and the height of the sun above the horizon. The man is there too, isn't he dangerous? What does he do?
"Hmm? Which man?" Marseilles picks her way through the unmown hay field and emerges onto the road, which she crosses to walk through the baled field. The sun isn't far above the horizon now; it'll set in another half hour or so, and the grey of twilight alraedy looms on the eastern horizon.
The coyote is momentarily confused, his memory is not the best. I had to hide from someone at the house once, who was that? Weren't they bad?
The ghost girl stops, shivering. "Oh. Him. The man with no soul."
What did he trade it for? The possibility that it was just lost skips the coyote's mind, he's certain it was no accident.
"I don't think he ever had one," she whispers. "I don't like him. He doesn't see me at all, not even when I try my hardest. He won't scare away, not like everyone else."
He's not your father, is he? Do you know what he's looking for, why he keeps coming there? Yotee's tail wags.
"No, he's not my father." She sounds scornful of the idea. "He's a caretaker or something, not that he takes good care. And he doesn't belong. It's my house! I got rid of the others but I can't get rid of him. I hate him." Her eyes flare blue again, and she stomps across the ground, her feet smashing down the dirt and stubs of shorn hay.
Who were the others? Yotee pauses, one paw in the air, he hasn't seen Marseilles leave any tracks before, although she does have grass-stains on her dress and has been solid when he's touched her. He's not sure what to think, how the glow in her eyes might relate to anything else.
"It doesn't matter. They all left. I wish he would." The glow fades again, and her steps become less determined. Though she's still heading back in the direction of her house, she's no longer leaving footprints. "If people don't want to see me then I don't want to see them."
That seems reasonable. Yotee follows, I could try and make him go away. How do you know he has no soul?
"Just look at him! You can see he doesn't have one. Can't you?" She glances at Yotee, perplexed.
I didn't get a good look. Randall saw, but from a distance, and he misses lots of stuff. Yotee tries to imagine what a lack of a soul looks like. He's pretty sure he hasn't seen one, unless a blue glow counts. He grins, I'd have to stalk him to know for sure.
Marseilles grins back. "Maybe you should." Then her expression sobers. "But be careful of him, Trouble. I wouldn't want you to get hurt. And he's a bad person. He must be, or he'd have a soul."
Trouble, it's his siren song. I will! Yotee darts through the grass in anticipation, leading and following her home.