Wen-le-gone's tail twitches.
He has never seen a map before.
"Del-marn garn'karn.
Aerial representation of space,"
says the Slain, in Gel-speak.
Wen-le-gone can barely understand.
Wishes the Slain spoke Argon.
The map reminds Wen-le-gone
of the game board for tath-toll —
a game he invented.
Players build tunnels and stairs
on the board.
The map reminds him
of the view from The Fault.
Wen-le-gone has stood
on The Crest
so many times.
The wind sorting his whiskers.
Tunic flapping.
Sand grains catching
in the corners of his eyes.
Argenops,
isolated for generations
between The Fault and The Churn,
have no need of maps.
Knew of Prell
and the false empathy
of the Dock-winders
from the time
before the Separation.
But these other places
are wonders.
Enbricktow and Nebul-nan.
Bleth-nan.
Sintha, his recent prison.
The width of The Churn.
The dwindling of the Fault to nothing.
The Vast'ness, horizonless churning sea,
whispered in the dreams of the ancestors.
The Argenop measures
the distance from Tre'men to Wen.
"We live only one point five fingers
from the Dock-winders,"
says Wen-le-gone,
amazed.
The Slain laughs.
Tries to explain
scale.
A moan from the forest behind them
and the Slain's finger,
pointing to the northern extent
of the Sintha Road,
YOU ARE READING
Meniscus: One Point Five - Forty Missing Days
Science FictionAfter the Slain is shot, Odymn and an Argenop elder work together to try and return him to good health. As they journey towards the Themble, survival is a challenge. Odymn must add to her foraging skills and survive an attack by the vicious kotildi...
