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A Human, a Slain

and an Argenop.

For hours they slog

through pathless woods.

Even with the help of the staff,

the Slain is exhausted.


They camp

along the shore of The Churn,

near the edge of the wood.

Removed from The Churn damp.

Sheltered from The Churn wind.

Safety of The Churn rocks.


As evening comes,

slag-fern stew

simmers in the crummnel

and they list their favorite foods.


Wen-le-gone yearns

for zill and marl

drowning in grell butter.


The Slain shrugs.


Odymn murmurs,

"Chocolate."

And the Slain smiles.


"Chocolate?"

says Wen-le-gone.


Odymn points to

the spackle of stars

they call Baltella.

One of the seven

rumoured to be Sol.


"All the chocolate

in the universe

is gathered there,"

says Odymn.

"On Earth, the planet

I once called home."


Her eyes linger

on the tiny sparks.

Thinks about the chocolate cake

her mom made

for her eighteenth birthday.

The chocolate-covered raisins

they smuggled round math class

under the teacher's nose.


"Most hated food,"

says Odymn.


"The spenel cake

made by my 17th wife,"

says Wen-le-gone.


Even the Slain chuckles.


"Anything that once walked,"

says Odymn.


The Slain is silent.


"You didn't like my stew,"

says Odymn.

"You spit it out."


"The ransindyne,"

says the Slain.

"Eight one-suns

in training.

Ate nothing

but mashed ransindyne."


Wen-le-gone rolls to his feet.

"What is that?"

he says.


Gestures towards

a cluster of trees

deep in the woods.


Odymn follows his gaze.

Pin-points of light

dazzle as stars.


Odymn and Wen-le-gone

creep through the woods,

to find the cause.


A web, strung between two trees.

Metallic barbs

suspended

reflect the light

of the rising moons.


Wen-le-gone holds Odymn back.

"A dangle web,"

he says.

"Uth-whan, ben'nen.

Very dangerous.


"Spiral barbs,

tipped in poison,

embed and twist,

invade the skin.


"Slow and painful death."

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