Page 11 - GINGER

“Is my mother here too?”, Ginger asked Wobbly, snapping out.

“Ah well, did you see the purple river that flows and grows bubbleflies at its banks?”,
Wobbly asked nervously. “Or…or the flower buds in the foothills that taste like
fruitjelly?”

“Is my mother here; do you know her?” She repeated filtering out everything that Wobbly
had muttered.

There was something else that interrupted Ginger’s questions too. A pitter patter that
was heard in the background every time Ginger put that question, until the flapping grew
so loud that she stopped and looked around searching for the bird who was overhearing
them.

“Who is it? Come forward and answer my question. So much for the interruption.” She was
visibly upset.

A twinkle, and a crash landing of something that looked like a malnourished fur ball with
owl feathers came to stand in front of them. The bird walked limply towards Ginger with
glassy eyes as she looked at her – baffled and scared.

“You want answers? See this.” She forwarded her right wing-arm that bore splattered
feathers and a creak-shaped scar like something had blasted on them.

It was impossible for Ginger to comprehend what was happening. “Pristlebear! What
happened to you?”

Ginger asked the creature as she recollected her faint memories of this odd toy she had
found herself in her innocent most years.

The bird walked past Ginger looking in the dark space with an air of sadness.

“It took you long, Ginger.”

She now turned around at Ginger to answer a more answerable question for now. She
made Ginger sit on a lapis lazuli like rock, that looked like it had gobbled hundreds of
stars, and never puked them out.

“You were little.” Pristly said as Wobbly drew close standing by her in exact imitation of
her. “You painted many features, distinctively. But you could never make a face, an
ensemble of your mother’s.”

This was followed by a painful silence.

“But you…” Pristly looked at Wobbly for salvage.