(Rose)
We're somewhere in the Alps, heading roughly southwest. We don't trust that Gibraltar and Heracles columns are still an easy way across the sea, and I recall what the northern shores of the African continent looks like.
Also, we want to see the land our father visited once, and where Gülnihal was from, which means heading toward the Bosphorus strait and Anatolia instead. We'll head toward Egypt by the middle eastern area of this part of the world. If only we were Abrahamic devout, it would mean even more to us to take this long road.
The dry sun and sands of the East still feel rather far and ethereal as we climb mountains paths of central Europe.
As we gently make our way through, we enjoy our journey, hardening our feet and legs. And our stomachs also.
Being in summer, we can find fruits though, which is enjoyable. Most of them in ancient gardens or cultures long gone wild over time.
Most of them we recognise. Others we don't.
Bleue is good at spotting oddities in the wildlands. At least this time it wasn't as dangerous as the vampire apricots.
Bleue's arm is still thinner than the other, but it has fully healed now. She just has very weird scars all over her shoulder and arm.
This thin limb brings out to me what I think at first is a bird tucking its head close to its body. What has she found there?
I put down the chunks of wood I gathered for the fire of the evening, and look closer at the thing she carries.
It has the size of a small apple, but covered with elements looking like something in-between feathers and flower petals. It's soft and has very little showing the link to the previous plant it comes from.
What kind of fruit is that?
B - I don't know, they're growing just behind along the way of an old road.
We wait for the next morning before trying anything this time.
The fruit is still there, and has a soft sweet perfume.
Once all the feathers plucked out of it, it's almost melting between my fingers. It's very juicy and has soft porous skin. As I lick my fingers, I discover the lingering fruity taste. Bleue's gaze is somewhat intense, as she's waiting for my judgement.
B - How is it like?
R - A little like orange, but with no acidity? A little like a mango.
We like it. And as two hungry beings, we look for more.
Bleue brings us to the very old road. It's more like a rocky path with pieces of dark rocks eventually appearing flat, compared to the surrounding pebbles.
And on one side of this path, grows a line of very low shrubs. Like ivy, it grows by slithering along the surface, only this one is dry rocky ground.
I've heard of plants that grow like forests of a single organism, even before the new world rose. This one looks like it could belong to this family. The ivy spread from a root in a few directions, and where it found it nice, dug into the ground to build new roots. It then sprang again, slithered further, and repeated that for kilometres.
Thus following a road, plunging in and out of earth every metre or so, bringing a spread of lush shrubs only a few centimetres tall, in an endless line on the ground.
Here and there along its way, the white soft fruits grow along, almost on the ground.
When they're ripe, they detach, and the wind makes them roll further away it would seem. Peculiar.
Meanwhile, we just have to lean to pluck this nice crop. We fill our bags with the sweet thing as we walk along the plant and the road. Summer is nice says Bleue, taking a very messy bite in one fruit, with soft joy. The juice stains our clothes, washing some of the colours and leaving a lingering perfume of fruits on us.
~
The next day, we reached a flower field along a slope of the mountain. The core root of this plant is probably somewhere in there.
There are less fruits in the field, they are concentrated on the extensions. Instead, the flowers of these white vegetal feathers grow bigger and more colourful.
They look a little like lotus flowers, with thinner and fluffier petals. They release the same perfume as the fruits.
We spent half a day crossing the valley of these yellow to orange flowers, on a green field and carpet of short shrubs.
As we reach the other side, we notice the other rays spreading along other routes. It's like a giant web, well, like many living growths truly.
We gather the dead parts of it for the evening fire. And we follow another of its thin arms as a road toward the lands beyond the Alps.
This evening, roasting a little meat over the fire of dry bushes and shrubs, Bleue shared a few of her desires toward me and for us.
We discussed that over the fruity meal.
I'm more inclined to hearing what she's saying now; and to answer it might not be impossible.
I feel like her arm, healing slowly from something weird. I'm growing better with her.
We sleep along the flower beds, dreaming of fluffy fruits.
~
On morning, the fruits and flowers haven't tried to eat us, which is nice.
They went to eat our wastes only, which is more agreeable.
We walk, we hike, we stroll a little even sometimes, and even climb.
And surely, we're reaching a new land, closer to the Aegean sea. Far behind us, the odd flowers will follow over time.
On the other side of the chains and mountains, a new flora awaits.
~