Aranth appeared and sat down suddenly beside him,
and Salt jumped, startled. "Do you think it's true?"
"Huh?"
"Do you think it's true?" he repeated. "That there aren't any shadows in the limits."
Salt blinked at them, then set his eyes back up at the horizon, which for Tonsor was less about sky meeting ground than it was about ground meeting higher ground. The boundary was limned in a dull, pale white — a combination of runoff luminant and elemental garbage. Above it, shrouded in mist, were the outlines of buildings, bulky and slim, all tangled and netted in glowing wires. The architecture of Tonsor, by contrast, was shallow and uneven where ironwood was allowed its traditional knotty growths, rather than filed down to smooth lines, and between houses were only a few wires, stretched or draped across eaves or on trees stripped and reappropriated to bear the wires' weight. The wires were heavy — not made of feathery opalite, but conductive ore.
Everyone always talked about the limits like they were completely different, but this was really all there was to it — a difference in buildings, a difference in wire. The diversity of the populace, of course, was quite different, as the folk up there didn't dare venture beyond their safety veil into what those of Tonsor thought, with amusement, must seem to them like the gaping maw of hell. Hell, their home. Their home which was less dark than it was not eye-burningly bright all the time. It was —
Amanth snapped his hooves suddenly beside his ear and Salt jumped, startled. "Hey. Were you listening to me?"
"Um." Salt fidgeted. What had Aranth said?
"I think there are shadows," he said. "I mean — wouldn't there be more shadows? Since there's so much light to cast them?"
"Sure," Aranth agreed with a sigh, "but I'd already given up on you ever responding to that and moved on to Fallish. Salt, honestly, how are you supposed to be a Scholar like this?"
"Huh?"
"Do you think it's true?" he repeated. "That there aren't any shadows in the limits."
Salt blinked at them, then set his eyes back up at the horizon, which for Tonsor was less about sky meeting ground than it was about ground meeting higher ground. The boundary was limned in a dull, pale white — a combination of runoff luminant and elemental garbage. Above it, shrouded in mist, were the outlines of buildings, bulky and slim, all tangled and netted in glowing wires. The architecture of Tonsor, by contrast, was shallow and uneven where ironwood was allowed its traditional knotty growths, rather than filed down to smooth lines, and between houses were only a few wires, stretched or draped across eaves or on trees stripped and reappropriated to bear the wires' weight. The wires were heavy — not made of feathery opalite, but conductive ore.
Everyone always talked about the limits like they were completely different, but this was really all there was to it — a difference in buildings, a difference in wire. The diversity of the populace, of course, was quite different, as the folk up there didn't dare venture beyond their safety veil into what those of Tonsor thought, with amusement, must seem to them like the gaping maw of hell. Hell, their home. Their home which was less dark than it was not eye-burningly bright all the time. It was —
Amanth snapped his hooves suddenly beside his ear and Salt jumped, startled. "Hey. Were you listening to me?"
"Um." Salt fidgeted. What had Aranth said?
"I think there are shadows," he said. "I mean — wouldn't there be more shadows? Since there's so much light to cast them?"
"Sure," Aranth agreed with a sigh, "but I'd already given up on you ever responding to that and moved on to Fallish. Salt, honestly, how are you supposed to be a Scholar like this?"
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