Bromfords of the Kollobita´´rtainnen - Part 8

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"Bromford Mews"

The leaves of brown came falling through the view
In Bromford Mews, I first met you
I staggered through your chilly dining room
In Bromford Mews, I first met you

Your kitchen sink was cluttered up
So I couldn't shut it up forlornly
I brewed another cuppa up
And tried to sneak out early in the morning

I thought you had much better things to do
In Bromford Mews, I first met you
Drowned my conversation with champagne
And Bromford Mews was not the same

I thought you were an intellect
But now that I reflect, you left me reeling
You made me drink a toast
And when you finished I was looking at the ceiling

The floods of tears I've wept thinking of you
Remind me of that night in Bromford Mews

You know that you left me broken-hearted
Bromford Mews

After yesterday's and last night's storm the ship is all quiet now. Through the porthole of the brig I can see a smooth blue-green almost turquoise ocean glistening in the upcoming sun. The horizon lies in faraway distance where the turquoise of the water meets the blue sky in a thin line. The heavy rocking of the ship has stopped. But are we moving at all?

Kylie is opening her eyes and sitting up on the bunk. She is rubbing her brows and temples.

»Where are we? What went wrong? « she asks addressing the faun. »I remember thirteen stones and symbols in your weird circle on the Brompton Castle estates. You called out twelve names of full-moons but only eleven symbols lightened up. This year isn't over. And I am quite sure there will be another full-moon near the end of this month. «

Mr.  Tumbleweed is not moving his head in her direction. He is still staring through me and the dark of the belly of the ship, maybe even through the ship's wooden hull.

»We are exactly where we need to be«, the half-man, half-goat creature says. »Not quite there yet, but close. These aren't the green meadows and golden towers of Greenlion, but we are sailing the Kollobita´´rtainnen Sea. Uh, that sweet air of home I can breathe and smell. «

»And you are darn well right with this, by Neptune's trident«, an unknown voice adds from outside this too small cell. »Haven't heard a truer word since we left Marrakesh. «

Today is Friday, the 8th of December 2023.