Not even the entire east district — but rather, a small portion of it elevated into the cliffsides that Bazaar brushed right up against. The whole place was a mess of wooden poles and two-by-fours and other bits of wood wired and nailed together, like the skeleton of some horribly broken ancient creature now populated by much too many passerine.

It was hard to even get close to the cliffsides, but as soon as he heard the faintest trill of noise from there, he felt the rami begin to shake — not convulsively, but subtly, and pleasantly, like a purr. So, Seph followed, side-stepping and stepping over various passerine who were trying in vain to shove their wares into his face or else straight into his pockets so they could make a racket about theft and take his money. Even when he got close to the perch-construct by the cliffs, he found that he could still not get quite near to it, because it was elevated off the ground at about six times his height, and the cliffside beneath it was smooth as riverstone.

There was one passerine girl up there, on one of the lower tiers of perches, her dress swaying low beneath her as she sang — high, spasmodic, mellifluous notes that irritated him at first, until he got into the rhythm of it, recognized the repeating bits and understood the song for what it was, not just a succession of glorified shrieks. She did not appear to be paying attention to anything, and no one really paid attention to her, except for the rami, which had uncoiled itself from Seph's hand and was stretching up towards her, warm and trembling in and out of substance with its adoration.