Submission (#8295) Approved

The cobbled road through the rolling hills of Faerindell unfurled like a ribbon of gold, curling past meadows heavy with wildflowers and fields where fruit trees sagged under the weight of blossoms and ripening fruit. The air was sweet with honey and pollen and something warm that clung to them. Every breeze brought a scatter of petals across the path, painting the world in a drifting rainbow.

Red trotted just a step ahead of the others, tail flicking in quiet rhythm. His ears turned toward every chirp of bird and rustle of grass, though he didn’t speak much. Faerindell was… distracting, he would admit. Almost too much. Too many colors. Too many smells. Too many locals insist you “just try” their flower cakes or rosewater tea. Driftwood, of course, was thriving in it, darting left and right to stick his nose in every patch of violets.

“Do you ever walk in a straight line?” Red muttered as Driftwood zigzagged across the road again.

Driftwood grinned, flowers already stuck in his fur. “Do you ever look at the scenery instead of glaring at it?”

Reds only answer was a grunt … but his gaze did linger on the endless fields beyond. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Faerindell. It was just… overwhelming at times.

That’s when he noticed the windmill.

At first, it seemed ordinary enough: tall, wooden, blades creaking as they turned lazily in the breeze. But as the group drew closer, Red realized each blade was woven entirely from massive petals. Petals that shifted color with every gust - soft lavender, then sunny yellow, then a dazzling, shimmering white. The mill itself was crowned with flowering vines and instead of grinding grain, its turning blades seemed to stir clouds of glowing pollen that spiraled gently into the sky.

“Okay,” Red said flatly, stopping in his tracks. “Now what is that?”

Yujis ears perked, his voice carrying a calm note of delight. “I’ve heard of this place. The Windmill of Whistling Blossoms. Farmers say the spinning petals scatter pollen across their fields for miles. Crops grow faster, and the bees love it.”

Driftwood bounced forward, tail waving. “It looks like a giant pinwheel! I bet if you climb it, it makes the whole world smell like flowers!”

“…Or you fall off and break your neck,” Red muttered, but his eyes were drawn up all the same.

A group of locals bustled around the base of the mill; cheerful elnin tying bundles of herbs to long poles, which they held up so the drifting pollen would cling to them. Others had set up little stalls along the roadside, selling honey-drizzled pastries and bottles of sparkling flower syrup to travelers. Kittoms darted in and out, tossing dandelion puffs at one another until the air looked like snow.

It was an attraction, Red realized. Not just a farm but a whole spectacle.

“Let’s have a closer look,” Yuji suggested gently, and before Red could object, Subaru had already nudged him forward.

The closer they came, the more curious details revealed themselves. The vines covering the windmill shifted as though alive, blossoms turning their faces toward passing elnin. From inside the mill came not grinding noises but… music? A low whistle, airy and bright, lulling the senses.

Red squinted. “Don’t tell me it sings.”

One of the farmers overheard him and laughed. “Not the mill itself, lad. But the Blossombirds.”

As if summoned, a trio of small, round creatures fluttered from the mills rafters. They looked like fat sparrows, but their wings were transparent petals, shimmering with iridescence. As they beat, they gave off gentle whistles that wove together into song.

Driftwood gasped. “Oh my stars, they’re like… singing flower lanterns with feathers!”

One immediately landed on his head, chirping a high note that made him squeak and laugh. Another swooped around Red, whistling so close to his ear that his fur puffed out.

“Get off me-!!” he started, but the Blossombird simply plopped down on his tail, fluffing itself like it owned the place.

Yuji covered his mouth with a paw to hide his chuckle. Even Subarus eyes softened.

“Don’t you dare say it……!” Red warned.

“…It likes you~” Yuji finished anyway, his tone warm and amused.

Red groaned.

That’s when a tiny thrill came from his shadow. His Pomu - a little bundle of mischief - slid out of the darkness at his paws. It tilted its head curiously at the Blossombird, gave a low prrrrt, and then, with alarming strength and speed, plucked the creature right off Reds tail.

“Hey!” Red shouted. “Put it down!” He knew his Pomu all too well; that little creature behaved like a mini-version of Driftwood, always up to no good.

The Pomu tilted its head, completely unbothered, and tucked the bewildered bird halfway into the blackness of Reds shadow like it was storing a shiny rock.

“Oh no you don’t,” Red hissed, pawing at the ground. The Pomu released the bird with a guilty chirr and scampered back into the shadow like a scolded child, its little treasure hoard rattling faintly inside.

Driftwood was laughing so hard he rolled onto his back in the grass. Yuji knelt to make sure the bird was unharmed, whispering something soothing as it ruffled its petal-wings and zipped back toward the mill.

Red muttered, ears flat. “It’s bad enough when the Pomu steals my stuff to drag it into the abyss. Now it’s kidnapping wildlife.”

“It’s still learning,” Subaru said sternly. “Just like you have to learn things as well. You need to guide it.”

.

They stayed a while, drawn in by the sheer oddness of the place. Red found himself sampling a honey-petal pastry (he insisted it was only because Driftwood shoved it at him, but he finished the whole thing). Yuji bought a bundle of herbs glittering with pollen, explaining softly that they would be useful in salves. Subaru took the time to simply stand nearby, his calm presence anchoring the group as always.

When they finally moved on, the glowing pollen still floated high above the fields, sparkling in the last rays of the sun. Blossombirds circled overhead, whistling their strange, sweet music into the twilight.

Red glanced back once, tail flicking. “…Weirdest farm I’ve ever seen,” he said at last.

“You liked it,” Driftwood sang.

“Did not.”

“Your Pomu tried to steal a bird. That means you liked it.”

Yujis soft laughter joined Driftwoods, Subarus quiet rumble rolling underneath it. Red kept his eyes fixed on the road, but there was the smallest upward twitch at the corner of his mouth as the wind carried the faint whistle of Blossombirds behind them.