The Isbjørn

Nine

ESTABLISHED ACROSS FERTILE PLAINS, the settlement of Easthaven was home to a small populace lead by Mr. Hansley.

The settlement itself was magnificent. With small houses built together in tight knit neighborhoods, quaint shops and vibrant, fruitful trees, Easthaven held a pleasant atmosphere.

As Mr. Hansley drew Daire and Aranea to the main attraction, he continued narrating with every turn. Everyone they passed greeted him and he returned with their names.

There was something fascinating about him, perhaps it was his sense of comradery or perhaps the simple decency that oozed from him. Nonetheless, his people tended to brag about knowing him, while helping him out in any way they can. Aranea didn't trust him.

"This is the Wizards Tower!" Mr. Hansley declared triumphantly as they closed in on a tall mechanical structure. At it's front, there was a small wood and stone building without windows, the only entrance: a single door over a precarious looking ramp.

"Wizards Tower?" For a moment Aranea was certain they had stumbled upon a town that believed in witchcraft.

Their world was strange enough with humanoid plants that communicated with birdsong and creatures with human faces that breathed beneath the sea.

Daire was not so quick to judge. He had seen a similar structure before. It was constructed entirely of metal with a grand antenna reaching over the top, stabilized by guy wires attached between two masts. Somehow, he saw this one was different. "It's for radio," he said, tilting his massive head to one side.

"That's right! Good eye!" Mr. Hansley turned away from the structure to address Daire. "You know alot about this?"

He shook his head. "I've only seen 'em around."

"Shame, it sure is fascinatin'. We got our very own resident expert: Daniel Mason." Mr. Hansley took another moment to examine the structure. "He studied under the big man— father of radio — don't know his name though."

Somehow, Aranea missed the grandeur of the entire principle. Radio was a ground breaking invention in the developing world with a great deal of potential. "Why not just call it a radio antenna then?" Alot of what men did seemed foolish to her.

"Uh— well. . ." Mr. Hansley tightened at her comment, losing his pleasant host demeanor for just a moment before returning. "To each their own, yeah? How 'bout we move on."

He led them once again past the farms of the dale, clearly trying to draw Aranea's interest as he had Daire's. "We build our communties primarily from stone." Mr. Hansley said with a proud gensture. "Every one has been built by a farmer to his own tastes. They're all family homes, then extended by subsequent generations."

This drew Daire's attention more than anything. "These are all families?" He was excited by the idea of close knit community and family loyalty— it was similar to the way Isbjørn organized themselves.

"Yes."

Aranea did not see it in quite the same way. "So people never leave here?"

"Well— nobody seems to want to." He pursed his lips and took his time considering an alternative. "Follow me." There was an enlightened look over his face.

Mr. Hansley drove them up a hill where farms dotted the landscape as far as the eye could see. From the distance, the family homes were no more than little grey boxes amongst the green and gold fields.

He pointed their attention to a farmhouse not particularly unique from the others, two storeys with a single roof, across the yard were the barns for animals, feed and threshing machines— where farmers used the behemoths to separate grain from straw and debris. Farms at this time still used a team of horse to pull heavy machinery like combines.