Tanbric stared at the modulating light searching for logic in its dance.
Far below on a woven platform in the dark perched the sandmiser all stigmatic and petulant in his hobbit pride.
A scan darrow,bird of photons, flew near him searching for food in his beard.
Nasty winds kept the place as bleak as a scowling hag, hills worn nobly by erosion and broken promises, the reason in the light seemed broken, the logic of the place somehow disinterested.

Understanding the fabrications and conflagrations of those sandstones and eucalypts, the historian walked mildly into the sunset, searching for footsteps and whisky, things he knew would lead him to Tanbric.

The woman was from earth and her uncanny style in the face of gruelling discomfort spoke well of her upbringing. Her campsite was a study in woven cloths from that planet, hanging on a line that she carried for this purpose. Of course these were garments, and it was largely cleaning rituals she was undertaking, but the tent, the kitchen, all were adorned with her textures and fabric..I was fascinated.

Tanbric had climbed the local prayer tower, talking to sadhus and quantum divers on the staircase, he had stopped to chew some beetlenut or qat he wasn't sure which. It was all bitter roots to him. When he got to the prayer wheel, all neon and self propulsion, he groked. The underlying oligarchy of that place became clear.

He jumped wildly from the tower, seeking the sandmiser, hungry for a his newly comprehended revenge. A struggle ensued, as they plunged to the sandstone below only to be saved by the historian, all airbags and advice, and taken to a hospice nearby for repair.

He'd receive convalescence from the woman all sex and fabric from plants far away, and together they headed out onto the landscape of broken promises to make a life.