The season of restless sylphs went on;
as time flickered on they shifted and rubbed together until the sky was filled with echoing, undiscernable gossip, which rumbled and grayed and dimmed until the skies grew stormy with frustration and friction. When the sky grew this busy not many dared to stay out in it, and instead crowded into the combs and tunnels in the cliffs, or else into Lower Quartzal itself, crowding together in awkwardly close quarters, all cone-shaped in woven ponchoes that protected their feathers from the dense, elementally-charged moisture that tended to make the filaments glisten and stand on end.
It was the first day of the mass exile of the passerine to walkers' Quartzal and Chimbeeriun had just newly retrieved a poncho from Kuhyo'ur, a secondhand one from her mate which was slightly too small and a little too zappy but which did the trick, though everyone Chimbeeriun touched jumped slightly with static.
"I'm sorry -- excuse me --" he said briefly, and then, "have you seen the Elementalist Skaffwory?"
"No," came the reply, repeatedly, "No --"
"No, I have not --"
"No, not since last Market --"
"No --"
"Never," said one brancher, and who asked then, in confusion, "Who is that?"
Chimbeeriun stared at him, at first disgusted, then chilled. Who was Skaffwory, indeed.
Who was Skaffwory? It occurred to him abruptly that there would come ages who would not know Skaffwory, in fact, yes, here was one here now. Someone who did not know the only fire elementalist passerine in all of Anthem history!
Chimbeeriun moved on, asking and asking, until he had the answer he both was searching for, and dreaded: "I haven't seen her in the caves, but I did see a light on the higher branches. It looked like firelight."
Chimbeeriun rushed to one of the cave mouths -- it was raining harshly, the slyphs throwing fits and shrieking and weeping hysterically -- he couldn't see anything, and he pushed the poncho over his shoulders and threw himself against the wind, labored up to a higher cave, plastering himself against the stone within before brushing the water from his eyes and peering through the rabid precipitation for a sign of Skaffwory's orange-red light.
It was the first day of the mass exile of the passerine to walkers' Quartzal and Chimbeeriun had just newly retrieved a poncho from Kuhyo'ur, a secondhand one from her mate which was slightly too small and a little too zappy but which did the trick, though everyone Chimbeeriun touched jumped slightly with static.
"I'm sorry -- excuse me --" he said briefly, and then, "have you seen the Elementalist Skaffwory?"
"No," came the reply, repeatedly, "No --"
"No, I have not --"
"No, not since last Market --"
"No --"
"Never," said one brancher, and who asked then, in confusion, "Who is that?"
Chimbeeriun stared at him, at first disgusted, then chilled. Who was Skaffwory, indeed.
Who was Skaffwory? It occurred to him abruptly that there would come ages who would not know Skaffwory, in fact, yes, here was one here now. Someone who did not know the only fire elementalist passerine in all of Anthem history!
Chimbeeriun moved on, asking and asking, until he had the answer he both was searching for, and dreaded: "I haven't seen her in the caves, but I did see a light on the higher branches. It looked like firelight."
Chimbeeriun rushed to one of the cave mouths -- it was raining harshly, the slyphs throwing fits and shrieking and weeping hysterically -- he couldn't see anything, and he pushed the poncho over his shoulders and threw himself against the wind, labored up to a higher cave, plastering himself against the stone within before brushing the water from his eyes and peering through the rabid precipitation for a sign of Skaffwory's orange-red light.
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