Delighted to find so such a spot, she’d performed what was to Nimble Missst a ridiculous gyrating dance of hollowite silliness. The moons, Jeth and Jith, both of ‘em fair nearly full, lit the landscape mysterious blue with black shadows. How many times had Nimble Missst floated as green wisps under so such similar moonslight? Multiples of many. Was it not truly one of her favorite joys to mist over mountains under full moons? It was. This night, howsoever, was different. She struggled to untangle a knot of a problem. Yes, she drifted as a green mist cloud over the hills of Clover. Yes, she twined over the Greenwilla River and seeped among Sadlar’s blooms. And all during this long night’s span of time, instead of enjoying the mystery of the moonslight, she struggled to untangle the knot of the missing Blossom Prince. Start over. Yes, start over, she thought deep in the night, fair true near the dawn. Line things up one at a time. The fleckrunner came out and said, ‘He ran off.’ Two letters in ‘He’.
