The Night Park of ZANABIA

When ZANABIA goes quiet, it does not sleep.
It softens.

Snow lowers its voice. Lanterns lean closer to the ground. The river slows just enough to hear itself think. And somewhere between the last lighted window and the first honest star, the Night Park opens—not with gates, but with permission.

Papa Woolybay arrives as he always does: unhurried, wrapped in wool that remembers other winters. He chooses the same bench, not because it is his, but because it remembers him. He holds his cup with both hands. Steam rises. Time loosens.

Blenchy appears without announcement. He does not need one. The night already knows his shape. He walks the paved path once, checks the lanterns with his eyes rather than his hands, and settles nearby. He is not guarding anything. He is keeping company.

The trees glow faintly—peculiar, patient trees. They do not shine to be seen. They shine so no one feels unseen.

Footsteps arrive in pairs and singles. A panda-headed Zanabian pauses at the river, listening as if the water might finish a sentence he started earlier that day. A kangaroo-headed walker stands perfectly still, tail grounded, learning the exact weight of calm. An owl-headed elder nods to no one in particular and is answered by the stars.

No one speaks loudly here.
No one asks questions that require answers.
Stories are shared sideways, if at all.

The Night Park is not for fixing.
It is for holding.

And then—quietly, without changing the temperature of the moment—someone new arrives.

Introducing a New Nocturnal of ZANABIA

Name: Orrin Bellstep

Form: Owl-head, human body

Role: Listener of the Unsaid

Orrin Bellstep walks with a staff that has no markings and carries a small bell that he never rings.

No one is certain why he brings it.

Orrin arrives only after midnight, when conversations have finished but feelings have not. He does not sit immediately. He walks the full length of the river path, counting neither steps nor lanterns. If he stops, it is because someone nearby needed stopping too.

He is known for three things:

• He remembers pauses better than words.
• He nods at exactly the right moment.
• He leaves before gratitude can catch him.

When someone sits beside him, Orrin does not offer advice. He adjusts the angle of his lantern so the light falls gently—not on faces, but on hands. He believes hands tell the truth faster.

If the bell ever rings, it is accidental. And when it does, everyone smiles—not because it is funny, but because it means someone has shifted something heavy inside themselves.

Papa Woolybay respects Orrin without ceremony. Blenchy trusts him without question. The trees glow a little steadier when he passes.

No one knows where Orrin lives.
Some believe he lives between thoughts.

But every night, when the river reflects more sky than snow, Orrin Bellstep is there—making sure that even the quietest feelings have a place to sit.