“Hi? Who are you?” I asked the immaculately-dressed plain-dweller. He clicked his tongue once before replying, giving me a disarming smile, “Oh, me? I’m nobody. I might have dropped by the Llygaid Crwydro twice or so, but I am in Gwymr oh so scarcely. No, you wouldn’t remember me. And I don’t remember you. How odd.” This plain-dweller had stood listlessly in front of the library, looking all around, and checking a pocket ringglass. Over their breast and forelegs a silky red robes with twisting green filaments flowed. On the breast of the robes lay some embroidered pickaxes and a pile of ash. Even for a library patron, they looked well-dressed. Really, they looked out of place. Their green eyes met mine, and their frills spread out like an invitation. I was saying, “It–it is hardly odd. I’m a stranger and not very interesting —⁠ I would forget me too.” “Oh, maybe for you, but not for me, scarcely for me. Why, look around you. Do you see any other with scales as blue or cloaks as regal as yours? Even a traveler such as I has scarcely seen the skylands, or a royal sky-dweller. And what a pity, when everything he’s heard makes the wonder of heaven itself flush warm with envy.” I rolled my head. “Are you some kind of poet?” “No, no — while I fancy myself some erudition, I could hardly scent the rarefied airs of poetry. No, I am just a traveler, and a lover of scrolls.” Trying a smile, I said, “I like scrolls.” “So I have heard. The librarian⁠ ⁠—⁠ Koo-ith-ick, was it?⁠ ⁠—⁠ He speaks highly of you.” The smile wasn’t an effort, this time. He saw me lift my head, mouth opening. Almost in response, his voice took on the textured growl of the librarian, or at least an imitation, “Never seen one so quick with figures, or clawing so neat.” My head fell, and my open smile turned to a frown. That was it? Calculations and neat clawings? Maybe there was nothing else worth mentioning about me. My frills drooped, then the traveler noticed and interrupted himself. “— Oh, is my impression so bad?” “No–no, it is nothing.” I whisked my wing, and was looking away, cringing. We stood out a street from the library, some dragons passing by. Some benches rose up from the side of the road, cracked and crumbling. “Nothing. Keep your spirit any sharper and you might cut yourself.” He shook his head. “Whatever. I did have a purpose of sorts here. Of course this smalltalk has been enjoyable enough so far.” “Okay.” “Come, lay with me.” He wave a wing at the benches beside the road. Clasping his forefeet, he started, “So. You are from the skylands, no?” I flicked my tongue. “I flew down here a few dances ago.” “Where from?” “Where?” “Yes, it was a question,” he said, slow. I glanced up. There weren’t any skylands in the sky, aside form a vague form near the horizon that could be a lot of things. “There isn’t really a ‘where’ in the sky… Our cities blow on the trade winds, so a skycity that is over the northern sea might be over the ridges next moon.” “Fine, fine. So pedantic! Which skyland, then — Is that the proper question for you, your sharpness?” “Um, I lived in Tädet/Pimeys. It is a big city. We have four libraries.” “Truly an enlightened metric.” “What?” “Oh, nothing,” he said. Conversationally, he continued, “So, how do you even move around up there, betwixt skylands? Do you just fly around all day?” I looked up again, this time catching the flows of flying dragons overhead. “You’d wait for the skyland you’re going to come close enough for you to fly over to it. If you had the money, you could pay the navigators to alter the city’s flightpath. But it can get expensive. You make bids, and you have to pay even if you are out-bidded.” “Ha, and dragons still pay?” “They pay a lot. Too much, my⁠ ⁠—⁠ some would say. But it’s good for the city.” He was nodding. “And what about your architecture? The legends say the cities above the clouds are alien, scarcely like anything on the earth.” “Well, that’s mostly because of the Severance. We, err, they don’t have access to surface stone quarries, and the stone that makes up the island is limited and very important. So we build our houses out of grown materials. We don’t have windows either, since you can’t grow sand. And there is no endless expanse of land like there is down here. We build up. Since gravity is no problem, we can do things surface-dwellers can’t.” “Oh yeah, you said the sky is mostly empty. And I suppose it is —” he cut off to look up, craning his head to scan the sky despite the buildings. “—⁠ since I can only see one skycity,” he finished, whisking a wing toward that moon-sized form drifting near a cloud a few sixth-radians above the horizon. “So, how did you get here?” “I, uh, I flew.” “Flew! Where was this Tahdet-Pimohsh? When you did that?” “Over the ocean. I mostly glided. It only took a few days.” “A few days of just flying?” “It’s pretty normal for traveling — hey, you’re a traveler, this should be normal for you too!” He took a beat to respond, “Oh, longest I have ever flown was two, three rings in my youth. Riding is much more comfortable.” Surface-dwellers! What kind of dragon couldn’t fly for a few days? This conversation was really starting to grate on me. I felt like some overworked academy instructor, endlessly explaining the most basic facts. “Can you not just look any of this up in a scroll? Even this little library will have some scrolls about the sky.” “Yes, yes, of course. But there is something about speaking to a real person about matter. Dead scrolls are scarcely the same.” “What? Scrolls are way better than asking a person. Scrolls don’t stutter and you can reread them.” “Oh, but there is no life in it! You cannot smile and laugh and joke with a scroll. There is no entre⁠ ⁠—⁠ err, interak⁠ ⁠—⁠ err, interactivity, yes that’s it.” I laughed. “What? Do not laugh at me. I had to find the right word. The difference between the right word and the almost right word is —” “I know the quote.” “As I would expect from a scholar such as yourself.” I flicked my tongue. A scholar? “But we are getting distracted, shame on you.” I lowered my head, frills folding. “Sorry.” “Sure,” he say before I even finish. He glanced up. “Say, do you miss the sky? the other Specters?” A frill ran over my headband. The scar underneath had almost stopped hurting. “I⁠ ⁠—” My voice caught. “I left for a reason. Next question.” The traveler bit his lip and, looking up, seemed to interrogate the clouds for another question. Then his brilles cleared and he said, “What is the biggest difference since coming to the surface?” “Well… do you see how I have my horns disbudded here?” The light-brown drake made some inscrutable wave of his foreleg. “Well, in the sky all wivers have that⁠ ⁠—⁠ but down here, everyone looks like a drake and it is so confusing.” “Oh?” He smiled. “So — How would you react if I told you I was a wiver?” I tossed my head. “I am not even surprised at this point⁠ ⁠—” “Oh, I’m not⁠ ⁠—⁠ Just messing with you.” He kicked a loose piece of lapilli on the ground. “So, what do you do? Found any use for your unique talents?” “Err… not really. I, uh, just work at a general shop. The Llygaid Crwydro.” “‘The Wandering Eye?’ Very interesting name. Very oh… Geunantic?” “Owner is Dynfderi.” “Heh, Dyfnder and their eyes.” I tittered. Finally, someone who got it like I did! “I see.” The joke pulled a guffawing hiss from him and it bled back onto me. A passerby in a cloak peered at us with a confused look, then smiled and tossed their head. I glanced back to the traveler, and smiled at him. A long ring cut through the laughter. The sixth ring. I glanced back the library, but the traveler had already starting talking again, “Say, have you ever met a forest-dweller called Hinte? Acts like she’s shedding every day of the cycle?” My head jerked back to him, my frills flaring in an instant. “Hinte? She isn’t that bad…” “Yeah, because you are both alchemy-tongued wivers. Have some sympathy for one lacking such advantages.” Smirking, I said, “Did you mean to say ‘scarcing such advantages?’” “I see.” I laughed again. He used my joke! We settled, and I wondered aloud, “How did you know I was an alchemist? I didn’t tell you.” He gave me a wide-frilled look. But it turned into a grin, and he said, “You smell like it.” Was that a compliment? I’d take it as one. “Thanks.” Maybe I could become an alchemist. “But you know her — Hinte — then?” I lowered my head. “Would you know what this business with the lake is? Something about monsters, I heard?” “There were these spooky ape things with skin like mud and armor and weapons.” He flinched when I said ‘skin like mud.’ Recovering, he said, “Oh, you were there, then?” My frills faltered. “I was. Not like the papers can taste it.” I looked away. “We did it together.” I muttered. “Oh, don’t be like that, the papers aren’t just about what happens, they’re also about how it sounds. Which story do you think Gwymr/Frina would rather hear? Gären vor Hinte, hatch of the Ushra, slaying a quartet of monsters in the fires? Or the same with that sky-dweller who hasn’t been here six dances fighting humans with friendship and teamwork?” I didn’t turn. “The second.” “Uh huh. And did you buy a paper?” I grunted something unintelligible. “So. You must know what really happened, no? Where those humans really just hanging around in the lake?” “No, I think they were exploring or something. We found them after they had been attacked by wraiths, bleeding out.” I shuddered. They had looked away and watched the passersby as they asked, “Did you get all of them? Did none escape?” “Um. Some of them tried to escape. But Hinte is the one who caught them in the first place, you would have to ask her.” “Oh? You had nothing to do with it?” I bared my fangs. I didn’t growl. “But I did. I guarded the first human corpses while Hinte fought the rest. I scared off the wraiths! I didn’t fight the humans, but I helped a lot otherwise!” “Oh, is she some kind of fighter? Why leave it all the her?” “I⁠ ⁠—⁠ I…” I was scared. “Someone had to guard the body.” “And nothing interesting happened while you guarded?” “There–there was a shadow.” And Mawla. His tongue flicked, head pressing forward. “But I⁠ ⁠—⁠ I could not aban–abandon the body⁠ ⁠—⁠ So I did not.” “How very practical.” “I⁠ ⁠—⁠ practical, yeah.” Another cloaked passerby walked by the bench. Were they the same one? The cloak made it hard to tell. “Why were you two in the lake in the first place?” Looking down, I said, “Sifting.” “Just sifting?” His head pressed forward, tilting as if in disbelief. “For nothing in particular?” Should I tell them? Hinte had made it so secretive. She told me in confidence, as a friend. Could I just tell him? He were nice, fun. Cute. For a plain-dweller. But Hinte was a friend, and I fought for her secrets. I couldn’t, wouldn’t, spill it without comparable effort on their part. And yet. He was nice. And too silly to really do much harm. “Have you heard of crysts?” I could tell them the innocuous part. “Hum… No, never heard anything like that.” “You should be glad. They sound awful,” I said, in my best imitation of Sinig’s scentless tone. “Ha, ha. I am sure that would be funny if I knew what you were talking about. Is it some esoteric alchemy regent?” What? Did they mean ‘reagent?’ “It⁠ ⁠—” Mages were feared, even more than alchemists. “—⁠ is, yeah.” “Ah. Have I mentioned how I hate alchemy? Because I hate alchemy.” He tossed his head, grimacing with enough exaggeration that it might just be a complaint and nothing deeper. “I like alchemy. Sometimes. Mostly when I am not doing it.” He clicked. Reaching into his robes, he took out a ringglass with its sand split between the two bulbs. “Oh, seems like I have to go. I like you, what was your name?” “Kinri. Miss Kinri.” My frills might have fluttered. “Oh, glad to meet you. Am mister Dieithr.” “Am glad to meet you, too.” My tail coiled. “Is this goodbye?” “It is. I have places to fly⁠ ⁠—⁠ drop by the Dychwelfa ac Theatr sometimes, if you want any more of me. It’s the one just past the Moyo-Makao. Not that other theater. Fair… Scrolling, I suppose? Taste you later.” Taste me. Oh. My tail, already coiled around my leg, strangled my hindleg. That must have been a slip of his tongue. He acted silly and slipped up a few other times in the conversation, too. It was nothing. I said, “Fly well, mister Dieithr.” My frills out-stretched like a pair of wings around my face. My fangs were bedewed. I looked away. Dieithr said, “Oh, and I meant it about coming to Dychwelfa. It’d be a shame to lose track of someone like you.” Um, I got the point. Why are you pressing this? It was a thought, what I said was, “Will there be other people there?” “Oh, not quite. This’ll be a privitive meeting, you and me.” No. “I’ll think about it,” I said slowly. “I have plans today.” “Let me guess — you’re heading for the market?” “How did you⁠ ⁠—⁠ yes.” “Might I suggest not going this time of day? Or today at all? It’s all quite crowded. And there are been a rash of violence lately. Some say there’s a new drug on the loose⁠ ⁠—⁠ and all the miasma coming with that. Best to stay safe, I say.” “As I said, I have plans.” I said, tone cooling. Then I peered closer at the plain-dweller. “Wait… I know you! You’re the rod-twirler guy from last night⁠ ⁠—⁠ who told me not to go to faer!” He smiled intensely. “I see I am distinctive.” I rolled my head. “Whatever happened to that Bauume creature? The angry musician drake.” “Him? Oh, still angry. Quite angry, esp–especially at your wiver friend. The one who kicked him. He’s a grudgeful one, as will be no surprise.” I nodded. Tone still cool, I said, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” He inclined his head, and leapt after murmuring some farewell. I spat. I glanced at the suns trailing fiery lines in the sky. Oleuni was leading Enyswm behind a cloud gray and dreary, floating a few sixth-radians away; and ultimately, leading him to a grave at the west horizon. A short ring chimed as I turned to the library. Oleuni’s alighting wouldn’t be long from now, then; there were only four more long rings in the day. Had I really lost so much time to that conversation? I started toward the library, hoping Chwithach wouldn’t be too disappointed by my lateness. * * *