(When she thinks he might not recognize a word she uses, she spells it out after signing it, preemptively; the practise is good for her and she doesn't mind making it easier for him.)
Ilde knows not only how far they can get across the ocean (which is not necessarily how far it is, but how far before it turns into the madness of the fog) but also that the space around them is small; the geomagnetic storms that came and tore holes in this reality should never have been as close to the city itself as they were, Sonja said. That means there wasn't enough space for them to be further away.
Even the sky is a small thing, wrapped around them like some twisted child's snow-globe. When she thinks of the gods, she imagines them with their hands around the glass, shaking it hard to see what happens next, like spoiled children who don't care about breaking toys they can replace.
Not always. Sometimes. Other times, she breathes in Shada's incense and wonders if this is what belonging feels like. The contradictions in her own perception suit her.
I used to travel a lot. Which is agreement, of a sort.
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Ilde knows not only how far they can get across the ocean (which is not necessarily how far it is, but how far before it turns into the madness of the fog) but also that the space around them is small; the geomagnetic storms that came and tore holes in this reality should never have been as close to the city itself as they were, Sonja said. That means there wasn't enough space for them to be further away.
Even the sky is a small thing, wrapped around them like some twisted child's snow-globe. When she thinks of the gods, she imagines them with their hands around the glass, shaking it hard to see what happens next, like spoiled children who don't care about breaking toys they can replace.
Not always. Sometimes. Other times, she breathes in Shada's incense and wonders if this is what belonging feels like. The contradictions in her own perception suit her.
I used to travel a lot. Which is agreement, of a sort.