The Colour of Time - Part 17

 

I know his name, Dora of Wye thought. I have always known it from the first time I heard his thundering, tolling voice.

'Your name is Flakemane!' she called out in pure delight. 'Your white lion's mane is made of a trillion snowflakes. You are none other than Flakemane, the snowlion.'

And she hugged his neck and buried her face in his feather-light hair.

'So it should be,' the lion said with a friendly growl.

And together they roamed around the enchanted winter-forest outside the City of Earth under the Cyan sky.

Until Flakemane sat perfectly still, looked up to the sun and seemed to listen carefully to a voice Dora could not hear.

After a deep breath of white steam escaped his lion mouth he turned around and looked at her all calm and serious.

'It is time for you and me, little Dora,' he said, 'time to part ways. Write that in your book. And return to your parents and their house they now own in the City of Earth in the street with the tavern.'

And before Dora could even blink Flakemane, the snowlion, was gone.

'Why can't I stop thinking about the colour of time?' KussKuss, the llama asked.

'Same here,' whispered Bromford, the bard, 'but it is also on my mind as La Couleur du Temps.'

'That's strange,' the llama whispered back, 'because we are in Juárez, Mexico, tonight. And those are no Spanish words, dude.'

"Bromford"

Start tearing the old man down
Run past the heather and down to the old road
Start turning the grain into the ground Roll a new leaf over
In the middle of the night, there’s an old man treading around in the gathered rain
Well mister, if you’re going to walk on water
Could you drop a line my way?

Bromford somewhere in middle America
Get right to the heart of matters
It’s the heart that matters more
I think you better turn your ticket in
And get your money back at the door

Start threading a needle
Brush past the shuttle that slides through the cold room
Start turning the wool across the wire Roll a new life over
In the middle of the night, there’s an old man threading his toes through a bucket of rain
Hey mister, you don’t want to walk on water
you’re only going to walk all over me

Bromford somewhere in middle America
Get right to the heart of the matters
It’s the heart that matters more
I think you better turn your ticket in
And get your money back at the door

Start running the banner down
Drop past the colour come up through the summer rain
Start turning the girl into the ground Roll a new love over
In the middle of the day, there’s a young man rolling around in the earth and rain
Hey Mister, if you’re going to walk on water
You know you’re only going to walk all over me.

Bromford somewhere in middle America
Get right to the heart of matters
It’s the heart that matters more
I think you better turn your ticket in
And get your money back at the door

Today is Wednesday, the 17th of December 2025.