Skidding to a stop at the lake Molly tears up a load of pebbles. About to fling them into the Lake, she stops. What has the Lake ever done to her?
Nothing, her brain replies.
But by asking the right question, her mind lights up and pinpoints on the cause of all this mess.
Out of breathe but not out of anger, Molly stomps through the Always-Orchard, smashes through the Garden of Forms, and on until she can feel the heat of the Forest of Flames that lines the Chasm of Darkest Nothing.
Glaring she focuses on the Unmoved Master’s manor house, just sitting there in sight of all the bad that’s happening but doing nothing to help.
The Unmoved Master caused all this but does nothing.
Slipping one of the stones from her bag, Molly feels the weight of the stone and with cold detachment imagines the large pebble, sailing over the chasm and hitting one of those twinkling windows in the Master’s house.
Molly wonders what the Master would do. She’d seen enough young mortals damage and break other people’s property and it invariably led to a confrontation; exactly what she wants.
Tossing the stone gently in the air, she takes a few steps back from the edge to give herself a run up and then drawing back her arm, she swings it over her head. Letting all her strength, fury and will flow down her arm she releases the stone.
The pebble is launched, and away. Flying straight and on target it appears to sail over the Chasm of Darkest Nothing but then something happens.
Too fast for Molly to react, the stone ricochets off some invisible wall and returns back over Molly’s head. She catches a glimpse of the small projectile, heading towards a cluster of trees. Racing up to see where it lands Molly finds Pear Tree, pale bark stripped away and highlighting the damage done. A stone is stuck in its trunk, like an exposed heart.
“Did you do that?” asks Gabriel, his voice singing, with humour and mischievous.
“Nooo,” lies Molly. “It’s always been like that.”
“I doubt, that all pear trees grow a stone in their trunk.”
“How do you know? Have you seen a pear tree in the Wild?” asks Molly. “Or it could have been a Chorister. They’re always playing tricks.”
“Sure,” says Gabriel, crossing his arms and posing in glorious splendour. Molly is tempted to throw a pebble at him just to ruffle his feathers. “So, this Chorister must have had quite a good aim to hit the trunk.”
“Maybe it was just an accident.”
“Lumini don’t go around throwing stones accidentally.”
Suddenly they hear a cry from the garden. Turning in unison, they see a figure waddling toward them; basket in hand and waving a folk overhead.
“I don’t think the Gardener is pleased, with the addition to the garden.” Hiding a smile, Molly speeds up and takes off. Gabriel laughs and jumps into the air after her.