Tanbric stared at the modulating light searching for logic in its
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
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.