Molly said something strange then, for a woman who never slept a night through without waking many times to see if the unicorn was still there, and whose dreams were all of golden bridles and gentle young thieves. “It’s the princesses who have no time,” she said. “The sky spins and drags everything along with it, princesses and magicians and poor Cully and all, but you stand still. You never see anything just once. I wish you could be a princess for a little while, or a flower, or a duck. Something that can’t wait.”
She sang a verse of a doleful, limping song, halting after each line as she tried to recall the next.
‘Who has choices need not choose.
We must, who have none.
We can love but what we lose –
What is gone is gone.’
Schmendrick peered over the unicorn’s back into Molly’s territory. “Where did you hear that song?” he demanded. It was the first he had spoken to her since the dawn when she joined the journey. Molly shook her head.
“I don’t remember. I’ve known it a long time.”
The land had grown leaner day by day as they traveled on, and the faces of the folk they met had grown bitter with the brown grass; but to the unicorn’s eyes Molly was becoming a softer country, full of pools and caves, where old flowers came burning out of the ground. Under the dirt and indifference, she appeared only thirty-seven or thirty-eight years old – no older than Schmendrick, surely, despite the magician’s birthdayless face. Her rough hair bloomed, her skin quickened, and her voice was nearly as gentle to all things as it was when she spoke to the unicorn. The eyes would never be joyous, any more than they could ever turn green or blue, but they too had wakened in the earth. She walked eagerly into King Haggard’s realm on bare, blistered feet, and she sang often.
An angry little beetle with her own kitchen beauty: fig, sesame, hazelnut, and cooking spices softened by rice flower.
ixtoh –
I adore this scent. Leather is the strongest on me at first – leather and freshly dug earth with a woodsy softness from the sandalwood and fig. I can’t pick up the lemongrass at all. Very long-lasting, but as the day wore on the rugged wilderness faded and only the sandalwood remained, sweet and comforting. I didn’t expect a “brown” scent inspired by the rat speakers to feel so sexy.
VetchVespers –
This smells like all kinds of dirt, but in the best way possible! At first, I get a green, squish-between-your toes sort of mud, then it goes to a warm, spicy earth scent, and finally dries down to a creamy, soft, dusty dirt, like something Pigpen would wear on a hot date. The patchouli is prominent. The lemon verbena doesn’t show up on me, which is a surprise since usually I amp it. The fig lends a touch of sweetness. The sandalwood is probably what I’m registering as creamy dust, and I do get leather, BUT the notes really are part of the whole in this one. I wouldn’t wear this often, but I would wear it, and for all you dirt and/or earthy patchouli lovers out there, I’d highly recommend you give this a try. It deserves more love.