The Wheelers of King Nome and Queen Mombi were always such nuisances. They moved through the four quadrants of Oz, under the authority of the various Witches, but in truth their only allegiance was to the King and Queen of Oz. Their only authority, technically, was also to federal crimes, not local ones of the quadrants. That was meant to be left up to the local authorities, like the Flying Monkeys or the Munchkins, but in practice, this was rarely the case.
Such things tended to be useful to the young Didymus, who could be found in the North Quadrant, sprinting towards a hovercycle called Gump. ‘Come on, come on.’
It all started simply enough that day. The red path had taken her North, and from here, she knew, she needed to find the next path – the lost path. It had taken much time to figure out that much, and to figure out that the path was once the yellow path, not green, as so many others had speculated.
Didymus thought the rest of the answer was within the confines of a pink bubble, tucked deep within the front pocket of her black hoodie, but she had no time to verify that. She’d stolen it, after all, right from the Witch’s office, and that’s what caused the chaos and noise behind her. She had been caught first by the Munchkins, who took her – well, they thought, him – for a petty thief. Shackles and the promise of a cell were in her future until the Wheelers decided to try and throw their weight around.
They maybe, also, saw the brand on her hand and tried to insist she was who they were looking for. Which the Munchkins argued about – she was no pretty girl with long, black curls falling to her waist, in a frilly dress. She was a stupid boy in a hoodie. In the ensuing arguments, she broke out of her shackles, grabbed the bubble, and ran.
The arguing and bickering slowed them down enough that she was able to get right on the Gump, and launch it forward to escape.
It shot right forward and right onto one of the skyward paths. Laughter broke from her lips, though she knew she would have to hide, and quickly, before the Wheelers could overcome her. She broke off from the skyward path – always difficult, but the Gump was modified to be able to maintain its lift so long as it rose no higher than a hundred feet off the ground, when it was off a path.
A path was something the Wheelers could follow – she didn’t need that.
The problem was, she didn’t know the North very well.
She didn’t recognize she was approaching a cliff until it was too late, and didn’t realize how steep it was, until Gump suddenly lost its balance, faltered in the air, and then began to plummet. “No, no, no!” She tried to kick the engines back into gear, force it to catch the air again, but even when it was within range to do so, it fell too fast, and landed hard on the ground, throwing her from it. She rolled with it, groaning her complaint as grass and hay entangled themselves in her fabric and hair.
Gump was fine.
Gump was always fine.
She wanted to get up and kick the accursed bike out of spite, but deciding laying there was probably good. No one was going to expect to find her there, as her hovercycle was puttering out and winding down into silence. ‘At least the bike hit first.’ And she’d only bounced from the seat of the bike. It could have been worse, she thought, as she started to close her green eyes on the world, thinking she could rest for a bit and then get back on track. She brought a hand up to brush some of the stray plants from her face, as well as the dark bangs, before just covering her face with the hand and trying to relax.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Nothing here but the scarecrow.
Such things tended to be useful to the young Didymus, who could be found in the North Quadrant, sprinting towards a hovercycle called Gump. ‘Come on, come on.’
It all started simply enough that day. The red path had taken her North, and from here, she knew, she needed to find the next path – the lost path. It had taken much time to figure out that much, and to figure out that the path was once the yellow path, not green, as so many others had speculated.
Didymus thought the rest of the answer was within the confines of a pink bubble, tucked deep within the front pocket of her black hoodie, but she had no time to verify that. She’d stolen it, after all, right from the Witch’s office, and that’s what caused the chaos and noise behind her. She had been caught first by the Munchkins, who took her – well, they thought, him – for a petty thief. Shackles and the promise of a cell were in her future until the Wheelers decided to try and throw their weight around.
They maybe, also, saw the brand on her hand and tried to insist she was who they were looking for. Which the Munchkins argued about – she was no pretty girl with long, black curls falling to her waist, in a frilly dress. She was a stupid boy in a hoodie. In the ensuing arguments, she broke out of her shackles, grabbed the bubble, and ran.
The arguing and bickering slowed them down enough that she was able to get right on the Gump, and launch it forward to escape.
It shot right forward and right onto one of the skyward paths. Laughter broke from her lips, though she knew she would have to hide, and quickly, before the Wheelers could overcome her. She broke off from the skyward path – always difficult, but the Gump was modified to be able to maintain its lift so long as it rose no higher than a hundred feet off the ground, when it was off a path.
A path was something the Wheelers could follow – she didn’t need that.
The problem was, she didn’t know the North very well.
She didn’t recognize she was approaching a cliff until it was too late, and didn’t realize how steep it was, until Gump suddenly lost its balance, faltered in the air, and then began to plummet. “No, no, no!” She tried to kick the engines back into gear, force it to catch the air again, but even when it was within range to do so, it fell too fast, and landed hard on the ground, throwing her from it. She rolled with it, groaning her complaint as grass and hay entangled themselves in her fabric and hair.
Gump was fine.
Gump was always fine.
She wanted to get up and kick the accursed bike out of spite, but deciding laying there was probably good. No one was going to expect to find her there, as her hovercycle was puttering out and winding down into silence. ‘At least the bike hit first.’ And she’d only bounced from the seat of the bike. It could have been worse, she thought, as she started to close her green eyes on the world, thinking she could rest for a bit and then get back on track. She brought a hand up to brush some of the stray plants from her face, as well as the dark bangs, before just covering her face with the hand and trying to relax.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Nothing here but the scarecrow.