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The lower West Field is a planned space, set aside for the display, cultivation, and enjoyment of plants and other forms of nature. The garden incorporates both natural and man-made materials.

The particular style of garden was in the vein of Japanese gardens, as a strolling garden which can be viewed from a path. The Oriental Gardens contain several of these elements, real or symbolic: Water, an island, a bridge to the island, a lantern, typically of stone and a teahouse or pavilion.

"Gaaawd." Shouyin wheeled slowly down the path through the gardens, the usual roar of the muscle car quieted to a pitiful purr. He tapped the left sideview mirror with his left index impatiently, wishing to just rip through this place and be on his way, but bylaws and a pleasant appreciation for beautiful things kept him impatiently puttering away.

He'd flipped off the radio, preferring the soft chirping of birds to any kind of song right now. And anyways, the beast he called a car was disturbing this place enough. Seemed like the half-golem's opinions were flipping back and forth between his insatiable impatience, and the calm adoration he felt 'strolling' through this garden.

Heh, a hand for beauty, a heart of stone.

"Aww, sweet." Shouyin grinned, eyeing the exit of the garden in the form of a sign signalling the entrance into the West Gate area. Flipping on the stereo he grabbed his iPod, putting on that one tune by Rush he seriously loved. Grinning he slid into second gear, the last few metres of the garden path becoming his quarter mile. The pedal was put to the medal, and the engine roared something straight visceral. If he wasn't accelerating out of second, and if he was just a little less sane, he might've popped a wheelie out of the forestry edge as he entered the residential area, but it wasn't to be.

A modern-day warrior
Mean mean stride,
Today's Tom Sawyer
Mean mean pride.

Edit: And there was a surprised O_O in Shouyin's eyes as he badassed his way along.

DESTINATION NEXT: West Gate

Grey eyes solemnly took it all in: the rowdy irises raising arrogant heads to the sun, the slow ripple of wind across the lake, the indefinable-but-undeniable scent of spring.

This would almost have been heaven once.

The distant roar of a gas-guzzling engine left irritation creasing her brow. Was nothing sacred anymore?

A sigh escaped full lips; she'd been holding her breath without even realizing it. But why? Sarielle had learned that intuition, while not always 100 percent accurate, was also based on fact. And she was suddenly uneasy.

Lilypads drifted lazily over dark green water, smooth as glass. There could scarcely be "chaos" here, anyway. With a shrug and a resolute straightening of her shoulders, she prepared to leave her sanctuary. That's what it had been, after all...it was time to start the game in earnest.

[Exiting E. to Barton West Gate]

And eastward it flew, swirling and spinning, going around what trees and obsticles there were. Suffice to say Marg was beyond sick to his stomach, he was getting much to dizzy even to think straight by the time Barton's West Gate approached.

"Now you be safe now, you hear?"

Grandma was always worried about his safety. Such things didn't seem to make a whole lot of sense to him back then, particularly when all he was doing was going to town to pick up some groceries.

It made a whole lot more sense to him now that he was flat on his back. In his half-conscious state, Athan had managed to crawl his way to the island in the center of the garden. He propped himself up by resting his back against the trunk of the tree.

"Heh...don't worry about me grandma. It's gramps you have to watch, he's been eyeing your pie all day. I'll be back in an hour or so."

Those were simpler times. Hell, he didn't even have to pay. All he had to do was head into town and cart the supplies back. They always offered him a cart. He never took it.

There's no easy way out of this one, kiddo.

He looked up. There was an image of his grandfather just standing there. He had all the typical visual effects one would expect from a spirit. Semi-transparent, light blue in color, the sort of stuff that one would expect from the afterlife. After a moment's silence, the spirit faded away.

Was he losing it? Or was that just another event sparked by the emergence of the petals?

He shifted his position against the tree, pulling his right knee up slightly. His left leg remained completely extended. The sword rested at his side, flat on the ground. His right wrist rested against the kneecap, the hand hanging limp from it.

"Shut up gramps."

He couldn't help but smile and shake his head. Any onlookers probably thought he was crazy.

"Damn..." Kit murmered, grasping his slight wound. It was still bleeding. Damnit damnit damnit! Where was a healer when you needed one? He was gonna eventually collapse of blood loss soon... That could just be paranoia, but still. His face was a little less red, he looked at his face in the reflection and immediately splashed water on it.

"Not going to do that anytime soon..."