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   Chapter 7 No.7

Black Sunrise By Christina Engela Characters: 5635

Updated: 2018-06-30 12:02


"Come on." She told the device. "It's time to go."

Perhaps if she'd had enough of traveling by then, she'd just go back home again. But right now, she was making her way to the rec-dec, the trunk following her in quiet obedience on its large quiet rubber wheels. The familiar feeling of being followed was coming back to her. A few minutes' walk was all it took to get there. The large transparent doors slid open noiselessly as she approached. She walked up to Fred and smiled.

"Come to say good-bye?" He asked. She nodded.

"Time goes on." She said. "They say it flies when you're having fun."

"Did it?"

She grinned. "Not really. But it was okay. I needed time to think and, you know, sort things out."

"Did you?"

"Pretty much. Still some way to go."

"Well, I hope everything works out for you, Cindy-Mei Winter. You're probably the most interesting human I've ever met."

"Probably?" She grinned. "You look after yourself, Fred. Don't forget to get some exercise."

"I will." Said Fred. "Now run along, I hate long goodbyes – they make me want to cry."

Mei wondered what a crying plant looked like. Or sounded like, for that matter. She wanted to hug Fred, but didn't know what to do. She didn't want to hurt him or break anything. She realized he was tougher than that, but all the same. She turned to wave at him as she reached the door. Fred waved a few branches at her in a surreal freaky sort of way before she disappeared behind the doors. He had grown rather fond of this odd little human in the time he had known her. They had talked a lot.

Being a plant had the advantage that people seemed not to mind spilling the beans to you, like you were s

She smiled again as she reluctantly accepted the helping hand he offered her in boarding the shuttle. The trunk trundled along silently behind her up the ramp and inside, where it parked itself in a clamp behind her seat.

* * *

Beck the Badfeller swung a leg out of the cab and accidentally trod on a patch of Crabbygrass. It yelped, sprouted legs and scampered off, in a little dust cloud, making angry muttering noises. It stopped only a moment to shake its seedpods at him, making a soft sound like tiny castanets. Momentarily surprised, he put his foot down again, and got out.

Crabbygrass. Weird stuff! It looked and smelled like ordinary grass, except it was aware that you were looking at it or smelling it. Or in the case of a na?ve horse imported from somewhere else – trying to eat it. The experience of being bitten back by the grass it was trying to chew, then getting scratched, clawed at, and then sworn black and blue was enough to drive any well-mannered steed potty. In fact, you could tell if your horse had been at the grass – it would be the one hiding under the trough, giggling nervous like.

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