Nimmow and The Slink

By Kell

Nimmow had never been to the nightglades alone. They had with them a pocket sized lantern—a little ball hardly bright enough to read by—attached to their bag with a cord. They could barely make out a thing aside from the blue glow of lumaponds and lightgiving flora. Though Nimmow found it nerve wracking to tread in the dark, it was hard to deny the tranquility of a place cast in dim hues and quiet rustling. They pressed on, keen to discover what the 'glades had in store.

The ground was soft, spongy in places, as it was carpeted in a thick layer of something resembling moss. It wasn't a warm clime either, cool on the skin with a slightest suggestion of a breeze. There was something mesmerizing to Nimmow about luminous plants swaying with the wind. At their feet, a moth clung to a gloambloom. It was a pretty thing, with crescent shaped wings and fuzzy spades of antennae.

Nimmow had stooped to admire the powdery insect when they heard a sound. A little sound, a tinkling sound like the laughter of a bell. Then silence. Stillness. They froze, waiting for whatever had arrived to reveal itself, staring up into the shadowy boughs of a tree the sound had come from.

"Something the matter?"

From just over their shoulder, as if someone were standing right there behind them, was a voice. It was smooth, with a pleasantly weighty inflection. Nimmow turned to find that whoever had been speaking to them was nowhere to be seen; there was only a tree, until one eye blinked open in the darkness, followed by another. Two luminous, banded pools of pulsing colors staring right back at them. As the pair of eyes settled, the jagged seam of a grinning maw opened beneath them. Fur—shifty and coily like ribbons—jangled 'round as the creature presented itself. It moved as if it were something between a cat and a spring-toy.

Nimmow nervously cleared their throat. "Hello, I'm…sightseeing, I suppose."

"Lovely," purred the stranger. "I do so like visitors." It descended the length of its branch and hopped to another adjascent bough to give the pomp a good look. Its body seemed to trail behind its head and forepaws with slight delay. "What have you come to see?"

"The nightglades themselves."

"Beautiful place, this," replied the stranger almost instantaneously. "Just a touch lonely, don't you think?"

Nimmow nodded. "You're the first somebody I've come across so far. It's very quiet here."

"So I've noticed." The stranger flicked its tail, leaving an afterimage. It fixed its gaze into Nimmow's own, bright pink and yellow circles undulating in the centre of its stare. "Why don't we shake things up?"

"Shake—?" was all the pomp could respond with before the ground rippled beneath their feet. The world around them, as dark as the nethers of an ocean but a moment ago, had exploded into color. Neon lifeforms danced 'round their head and body. They fell onto their back, unable to maintain their stance in the chaos. The world caught them in its softness.

The stranger laughed, chimes ringing in the sound. It leapt from the tree and landed on Nimmow's chest. "Now this is more lively."

Nimmow's head spun, dazed. "What is all this…?" A small red thing with six legs wiggled along their tummy and a cyan creature was playing in their hair. It would be a wonder if it hadn't been such a shock. Their eyes were still adjusting to the colors. They could feel the thrumming of a song's vibrations through the ground in contact with their back, but no sound accompanied it. Everything was moving.

"This is the Nightglades. Shall we continue 'sightseeing?'" That smile never faltered. Expectant.

Even with reality swimming, tiny hands and feet carressing their fur, the unsound pulsing through the ground, Nimmow was first and foremost an explorer. "Gladly, if I can have your name."

"Whatever would you do with it?"

"Have something to call you, of course."

"Very well…" With a cant of its head, the stranger said "…I am Filigree of slinks. Et toi, pomp?"

"Nimmow. …Of pomps."

A ringing snicker. "You're quick."

Some sort of brilliant cobalt bug flit by their nose. "I often need to be. Where to, then?" They pushed themselves up a little, bracing on their elbows into more of a sitting position.

Filigree hopped off and landed gracefully on its feet. Its tail bounced with the springy motion. "Follow me."

It was not always a wise choice to let a creature such as Filigree take the lead, but if it had wanted to devour Nimmow, it likely would have already. The slink's small footsteps left short lived patches of light in the moss. The glowing creatures trailed along in procession, as if strung in Filigree's wake. A few had taken their seats on the pomp's shoulders, however. Onwards, then.

Douce est la nuit, ever so sweet. Come along, tip-a-tap, pat-along feet.

Into the dark, led by a slink, there's more to the 'glades than one might think.