Catch me, if you can.

Taurus laid a rug out on the floor for the sun to lay upon. But when it came dusk, the sun ran off with a couple of clouds instead. Something about wanting more and needing less was uttered in the escape as the three began a mild escapade of scavenger hunts for moments bright and brilliant in the day.

A couple days passed and nothing changed.
Taurus alone with a blanket and a rug.

Then Virgo came along and made some comments, mild suggestions really. But Taurus didn’t want to hear it, being bullheaded and all. So, Virgo sat cross-legged on the rug and waited.

In the morning after that afternoon, another came and gave no name in particular. Just a firm hand-shake and a gentle smile. One that indicated everything would be alright. But no discussions about solutions ushered forth from anyone’s lips. They all sat or stood just staring around that spacious room. Each one in their own mind wondering — what will come of this?

And another day passed.

The next came a fox with a wand lit and smoking from a glowing flame. The light of that orange tongue lit the room, bathed everyone’s face in a warm glow. And soon Taurus was asking “Who are you” and “How will we-” and things about trying to fix this place.

The fox was agile, though, and did not answer but painted for everyone this picture: a glowing red sun slowly turning blue and setting over purple crested mountains as grasses swayed and birds winged overhead through clouds thin like whisps of hair.

Taurus nodded, thinking the answer was understood. Virgo got up, turned, and left the room. The fox laid down to sleep. And in the night, a nightengale sang and an owl joined the party in the room lit, still, by the fox’s wand.

A single hour before dawn, the owl perked up and sang. Not a lyrical melody, but a sad song of longing. Of missed places and lost conections, of failed hunts and lonely nights, of cold and bitter winters. Of games with no winners.

And as the sun crested the flat land, the owl shoved off and flew away.
The fox didn’t stir.
Taurus didn’t know what to do, so wept unendlingly at the loss.

A new day. A new white hot sun. And another magical landscape to examine.
Across a blue grass field, a breeze, warm and clearly blowing from a summer place, blew. The window hanging half open let the fresh air in. This made the room feel a little less daunting. Cozy, even. A little safe. And Taurus, eyes dried from yesterday, laid down beside the fox and fell fast asleep.

And in that vein, another day passed.
As would all the rest.

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