The Boy Who Lost Fairyland
“Hot orange grasses as tall as Tam’s waist moved in great oceanic waves around bald spots of cracked cobalt earth yawning wide. The sky blazed deep, bright red, the bloodiest sunset a sailor ever shuddered to see. There were no trees and only a few stones, buttes towering up in spindly blue rock columns like forks stuck in a roast. The wind smelled like good, wholesome potatoes put away against hunger.
“How do we know where Tanaquill’s Cellar ends and another begins? Or where to find the Redcaps...’ Rum Cellar? It just goes on and on forever!” Tam scratched the back of her neck in the heat.
Hawthorn looked round. The Steppes lay empty and quiet. He saw nothing but sweet orange grass. But Thomas Rood had said everything Cellar-like would be well hidden. It wouldn’t be anything so obvious as the blue buttes knobbling up toward the cloudless sky, or the cloudless ceiling, if only he could see it right, see it for what it was, and not just the Fairy wallpaper. It just looked so big.MoreLess
“How do we know where Tanaquill’s Cellar ends and another begins? Or where to find the Redcaps...’ Rum Cellar? It just goes on and on forever!” Tam scratched the back of her neck in the heat.
Hawthorn looked round. The Steppes lay empty and quiet. He saw nothing but sweet orange grass. But Thomas Rood had said everything Cellar-like would be well hidden. It wouldn’t be anything so obvious as the blue buttes knobbling up toward the cloudless sky, or the cloudless ceiling, if only he could see it right, see it for what it was, and not just the Fairy wallpaper. It just looked so big.MoreLess
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