Chapter Eleven

Sadlar and Gorge

Nimble Missst tucked her wits to business, no more delays, no more meaningless chats with ridiculous relatives. South to the Greenwilla River flew Nimby and fluttering Motty. Once there, they made a hard veer turn west to follow the river’s flow. By mountainous Skrabble on the left, then by Danken Wood on the right, they winged smartly until in the distance a patchwork of colors along the Greenwilla’s southern bank appeared among the rolling green hills of Clover. Such was the how that Sadlar’s Gardens announced ‘emselves to viewers in the sky.

Low they swept to land on a neatly groomed path in the midst of the blooms. White fences and trellises separated the riots of colored flowers. Though spread on a single level, Sadlar’s Gardens were not unlike the Blossom Castle terraces. Such was so and not a great surprise. Sadlar himself as a youngling had been a Blossom Castle jesterbeast until he finally fled to design and build his own gardens. Motty twirled her tongue out to pluck a pink blossom and eat it. Nimby’s severe frown and narrowed eyes forced Motty to change her mind.

“One blossom no? One blossom no? The pinks are fresh, row on row,” she sang, shrugging.

“They’ll still be fresh AFTER we find the prince,” said Nimble Missst. “Over there. That tall hedgerow next to the tool shed.”

So saying, Nimby trod the path toward the single opening in a giant hedgerow which curved away left and right. Truth, the hedgerow grew in a great circle. Nimble Missst called out warning as she walked.

“Be not afraid, Blossom Prince. I will not harm ye,” she announced loudly before muttering, “Ridiculous.”

“Sad?!” boomed a voice from inside the hedgerow circle.

“Who is it?” boomed another growl of a voice.

“I am Nimble Missst, Princess of Cloud Castle City. I am here to collect the Blossom Prince Zootch,” called Nimby confidently. She entered the hedgerow opening.

“She’s the princess, she’s the princess, may I eat a pink?” sang Motty while dancing a six-legged stumble around and about the exasperated Nimby. The two emerged so such on the inner of the circle.

“Settle!” Nimby hissed.

Seated on two immense woven cane chairs were the famous huge and monstrous monsters, Sadlar and Gorge. Between the two of ‘em, they had more than enough horns and tusks and claws and talons and yellow goggle eyes and massive muscles and rusty red hair and night blue hair and scales and rows of pointy teeth. Sadlar, a jesterbeast long absent from his Woods Beyond the Wood home, and Gorge, the 3-toed troll, neighbor of the lavender witch of the Danken Wood, were the best of friends. So such, Gorge often visited and stayed at Sadlar’s. So such, here he was.

“Sad sadness is so very sad,” rumbled Sadlar.

“You’re the one who changes into clouds, aren’t you?” asked Gorge. “And something else. Wait. A broken jaw mind, is it?”

“Broken jaw, broken jaw, broken jaw, ha ha ha,” sang and laughed Motty.

“Snap. Snapjaw mind,” corrected Nimby. “Show me where the prince is and we’ll leave.”

“Sadly sad? Sad sad,” said Sadlar.

“I don’t know either,” said the troll, nodding in agreement with Sadlar.

“The clues say he’s here. I have a snapjaw mind,” Nimby informed and reminded ‘em.

“Sadness is very sad. Sadly, sad can be sadder than sad. So sad,” said Sadlar. “Sometimes sudden.”

Motty blinked her froggy eyes and gaped. Nimby did not gape, but she did begin to feel somewhat so such uneasy. The two great beasts looked at her quizzically.

“No one or thing has been here in bars of weeks. You’re the first,” said Gorge. “Sadlar’s been up and down the gardens, tending. I’ve been reweaving and fortifying these chairs. No Prince. No nothing. You’re on the wrong trail, Nimble Missst.”

“Sadly,” added Sadlar.

Nimby felt weak in the knees. Wrong? Was it even possible?