just beyond the precipice in the corner of the sky exists a land as hard to see as huckleberry pie. The creatures there are bound by light but sageleaf liberates their forms to rise from leaden shells to fly a single night. For all they crave is this brief burst; a particle of free. But in doing so they can't go back and very quickly freeze. The atmosphere (to hold them back) is a boiling mass of cloud. The violet fetid soupy air muffles every sound. Sageleaf grows so woefully, unnurtured by the Glaikens. These lumpen gaolers trog the earth. They've no kindness to awaken.
Within this world the fungii thrive but hold a place most sacred. There are fungii wars and fungii homes and Commune-Cities gated.
We meet our hero, Roodrellac and join him in ablutions. For now he scrubs and dons his clothes for he has work to go to. But if he knew his soon to bes he'd be sure to pack a knife, too...
No comments:
Post a Comment