I've been thinking too much.
The first thing Nathaniel regrets is the dog. A week with no company but her, and suddenly her absence is a missing stair. He turns toward her and she isn’t there. And it’s dramatic, sure, because she’s only back at home. Because she only has a job to do and she isn’t his friend, but he misses her all the same. It takes less than a week for him to forget how to interact with human beings. He wishes he could just put a hand on her head and say something under his breath. Something like, I didn’t miss this place at all.
But Flowerbirth is dawn at the edge of night, sunlight on the whole miserable world, and Nathaniel has a list of things to do. It starts with melting snow and mud in the streets. Frost dwindling to bare the earth naked and raw underneath. Soon comes the rain, planting season, baby chicks, maybe this is the year he finds a new dog… His thoughts run away, disappearing somewhere in the future. Things due today: Supplies. Information, too, if he can find it.
This is why he finds himself in the marketplace, willingly surrounded by the indefatigable thrum of life. As if the whole place wasn’t drenched in death and darkness just a few days ago. As if people weren’t just dying on these very streets. And this is why he misses the dog — because she would be a constant presence at his side, stolid ribs pressed into his thigh, ears pricked, eyes watchful. Without her, he is a little lost, wandering down the street in the haze of his thoughts, trying to remember most of the things he needs.
Candles. A new whetstone. Maybe a new blade for the old knife. He hates haggling more than he hates most other things, so it takes him a while. One stall to the next, picking things up and turning them over. Making conversation. Someone tells him the Spark Bird descended this year, and he laughs.
Eventually, he has most of the things he needs. Shoved into pockets or cradled awkwardly in the crook of one arm. Nathaniel makes his way in the direction of the perch, just to look. He is, as usual, too caught up in his thoughts to pay much attention to anything else.
But Flowerbirth is dawn at the edge of night, sunlight on the whole miserable world, and Nathaniel has a list of things to do. It starts with melting snow and mud in the streets. Frost dwindling to bare the earth naked and raw underneath. Soon comes the rain, planting season, baby chicks, maybe this is the year he finds a new dog… His thoughts run away, disappearing somewhere in the future. Things due today: Supplies. Information, too, if he can find it.
This is why he finds himself in the marketplace, willingly surrounded by the indefatigable thrum of life. As if the whole place wasn’t drenched in death and darkness just a few days ago. As if people weren’t just dying on these very streets. And this is why he misses the dog — because she would be a constant presence at his side, stolid ribs pressed into his thigh, ears pricked, eyes watchful. Without her, he is a little lost, wandering down the street in the haze of his thoughts, trying to remember most of the things he needs.
Candles. A new whetstone. Maybe a new blade for the old knife. He hates haggling more than he hates most other things, so it takes him a while. One stall to the next, picking things up and turning them over. Making conversation. Someone tells him the Spark Bird descended this year, and he laughs.
Eventually, he has most of the things he needs. Shoved into pockets or cradled awkwardly in the crook of one arm. Nathaniel makes his way in the direction of the perch, just to look. He is, as usual, too caught up in his thoughts to pay much attention to anything else.
Nate
