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6. The vines abruptly begin to move and shift in a way that suggests that they are alive, and one of them suddenly snakes around your ankle, and then another. No matter how you struggle, you are pulled back towards the standing stone. The vines are gentle: they do not hurt you, but they cannot be beaten. When you touch the stone, you are swallowed up by instant sleep and a lingering moment of awareness, if you are not a Legendary. If you are, you experience an instant of what it must be like to fly higher than the highest bird, and higher still: you see the hazy curve of the edge of the world, the rivers and oceans spread below you like threads and puddles. And then you begin to fall, peacefully and without fear.
As it turned out, the more brilliant flowers, broken open and smeared against the ground – or more accurately, torn up and mashed into a sort of paste – did show up well against the too-green grass. But pastes didn't really work well with her style of painting – too much precision and finicky placement. She was much more of an...expressionist? Impressionist? (She was neither.) Anyway, more sweeping gestures, more performance in creation, more...dancey things. The fruits (at least, she hoped they were fruits) – now, those worked much better. Every specimen she had located – and there were plenty, lush and hanging, or proudly brandished by curling maybe-branches, or nestled alluringly at the bases of not-really-trees – were ripe to bursting, in every jeweled tone the artist she was could have desired. The juices were thick and rich, copiously flowing from every nick and rip she made, tossing the turgid sacks into the air and slashing judiciously with her sharpened hooves. The dramatic streaks and splashes they painted against the green? Ah – sheer pleasure. Glowing Vermillion upon Emerald: Paradise is a Place Unknown – Work 5 in a series of 7."An' not to put too fine a poin' on it," she thoughtfully remarked to the bulging orb, mouth full, "you're delicious."
At least...she thought it was delicious. Taste felt a little strange here. The moment she had bitten into it, the flavour burst upon her tongue, so vivid, so sweet, so...perfect, tears had nearly come unbidden from the sheer intensity of the experience. But once she had swallowed...well, it was hard to remember anything about that taste, save for the certainty that it had been perfect. Of course, it just gave her an excuse to eat more. Of everything.
"If only I could bring some of you – and you, and you," she nodded in turn at the elements of the cornucopia she had assembled, "back to Watch Me and the girls – you'd blow their minds! And altogether you look like them, pretty much, that bright ol' parrot, and my pretty girls. Except for Tender, she's pretty much just pink like me. Well – like you over there, Mr. Peach. Ms? Or 'might've been a peach in a different life.'" (She couldn't really remember if it had tasted like peach too.) "Maybe mash some of you up for my darling puppies too – what a treat that would be!"
She didn't once consider she might never return. She was a hunter, and always foolhardily sure she'd know if her time had come.
If she had worried harder, the maybe-vines that were creeping up upon her might have alarmed more. As it were, her sharp ears pricked at the subtle rustle of green against green, and she sprung around to see the vines snaking across the ground.
"Oh, hallo," she murmured, hopping between them, nimbly dancing back towards – she guessed, the source. She didn't quite fancy touching the stone tower again – she didn't like tears when she didn't know from whence they issued, but the vines were very many, and ever increasing. They didn't quite threaten, but presented their case very persuasively, and even with her honed reflexives, sheer numbers reduced her options, till she gracefully surrendered and presented her ankles to be tied. After all, she wasn't very far from the tower now.
"So much for the fruit!" she said, as the vines wrapped tenderly about her limbs and pulled her into the sun.
It was...everything. It felt...natural...right...almost as if she could flap wings, but she wasn't sure if there was higher still to soar. She could see it all...and it was beautiful. Even where it ended, so, so very far away. She moved to flap wings – but there were none, and like a feather, she began to fall, softly, at peace, a bird into a dream...
And it felt strange that it was dark, and that before her eyes there was only ground, when she finally opened them.
"Well," she said, at a loss, "well."
She rose, carefully – and was right to be careful, for her limbs ached. What was it then? Just a dream? Still, her shoulders rippled, moving to flex muscles she did not have.
"Too bad," she muttered, rolling her tongue in her mouth to recapture the taste of some forbidden fruit. The sun was only just starting to rise.
She moved towards the dawn, and paused – looking down to contemplate the scrape of a vivid vermillion against the dull grass, glittering like jewels in the first morning light.