#odyssey

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And so it was that Symon and Dagmar gathered before the trod that would be the first step of their journey

"Got everything?"

It's possible if they check they may find they have MORE things than they packed. Warm socks. Scarf with Thor on it. Mama's little hero drinking flask

Well, the pack sits fairly light on Dagmar's strong shoulders. "Maybe part of the next one, we could bring Star." Wistful.

“It’s on a trod, sure. Fae horses can ride on the silver, can’t they?” He muses. “I wonder if there’s such a thing as... hmm. If you could make horse-shoes out of the same stuff the trods are made of, then you could ride anywhere.” Then he snorts. “If they could do THAT, they’d have made boots.” Shaking his head at his own momentary stupidity.

“Of course, YOU can ride. I’m like a sack of potatoes on one of those things.”

Symon’s own pack was emptied and refilled and re-emptied a few times, yet he suspects that somehow those mittens or something made it’s way back in.

They so did

"Well, you could ride pillion... but yeah, gotta be the right quest to bring her."

“Pillion? Is that like, in a saddlebag?” Amused.

Snort-grin. "A pillow, kinda. Behind the saddle."

“Isn’t that how those little yap dogs would ride behind ladies?” He laughs.

"You're more a feral cat than a lap dog, though."

He gives a toothless grin at the comparison. “You’re too kind. So, lemme see that paper again. Did it give any clue where we’re supposed to look when we get there?”

The paper mentions Dr. Lolly's place in Ardent Harbor.

"So, Count Jude, we gotta head to Firnost, then go through the city..."

Probably BEST Not to take a horse through that yeah

He nods. “Can’t believe the tales you hear about that place. Seems dead these days. Maybe it exists on a parallel plane of existence where all of the wild parties and fights are happening, but we’re stuck on Earth 57, which just has a leaky faucet.”

"Yeah, well, I heard that it's a magic faucet."

"But only if you're a sidhe lady."

"I wonder why Jude doesn't want anybody going into Dr. Lolly's place? I mean, a mannikin is an inanimae like Klump..."

“I don’t know much about them. I mean, other that Klump and Nessa, but she mostly complains about staying around, and he complains about her trying to be too hasty.”

"Yeah. There's the tree at the Farm..." BLUSH.

And the scarecrow...dun dundun

“Maybe he hides his secrets in there and doesn’t want people to find them. Like pieces of maps that lead to unknown riches.”

"True!"

“Piper grew up over in the San Fran area, didn’t she? We should have asked her for tips.” A shrug. “Didn’t think of it.” His phone blinks with the ominous lack of signal that the Dreaming affects. Maybe there is a Cyber Realm somewhere with bars liek you couldn’t believe... 4...5....6...10 bars of service! Now THAT’S a dream, surfing at the speed of light. Or Dark. He distracts himself with that pleasant thought for a moment.

"Ohhhh... shit, yeah. Jude's the one.. the butterfly?"

And they step onto the trod?

He gives her a blank look. Their social circles don’t really seem to cross, the boisterous satyr and the reclusive sluagh. “Hold that thought - here we go...”

To the trod!

1...2...3, and together they step!

The first stretch they know oh so well, the Near Dreaming of Rivervale and lands... everything larger, a reflection of troll influence. Snowflakes brightly flicker and sing.

It's all a bit.. upbeat, for Symon. It's almost as if the Chieftain's soul is in a good mood overall and reflects what her stoic features won't

He hugs his coat closer, even if the snowflakes really aren’t that cold, the cheery feeling is off putting. It’s almost like someone offered him... ugh... cocoa.

Dagmar loves it. Trollish grins can be subtle, but Sy knows how to read her.

And a pat on the shoulder

A what?

Well, coco and a pat on the shoulder.. metaphorically speaking with the warm gestures

Ahhh.

Symon shuffles faster.

Winged Wolves fly through the Dreaming nearby "Happy Hunting?"

“If you start caroling, I WILL leave you behind.” He whispers, but maybe it’s an idle threat. He has a bit of a wan, Dickensian look in this feeling of winter, like a street urchin who might pick your pocket, but then buy mince pies for the lads.

Mince of what? Better not to ask.

"I'm no skald. You're safe."

A hiss of laughter. “Of course I’m safe, I’m with you.”

A little puff of her chest. "Thanks."

“If you see any Charlie Brown heads pop up behind bushes ready to start with lu-lu-lu, play whack a mole.”

Amused... the skywolves tease by ...singing, "Here we go awoofling across the skies so clean, here we go awolfing , our fangs so sharp and keen, joyful hunt as is your due, and to your packames too, and Wolfnoote bless you and grant you a happy new moon, wolfenoote bless you and grant you new moons!"