The child is no older than five, perhaps six. He rides on his father's left shoulder. It's late afternoon, and they're leaving the town square after having traded the bounty of their potato crop.
Papa? What did the heroes do after bad Ontooth died?
The farmer walks on in silence for several moments, cradling his son's feet in his scarred right hand. He blinks in the sun even though he's wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat. Nice heroes bring all friends home. These heroes rowed friends over waves. They carried friends like stones through water, so they would not be lonely in the ground. Wave to Uncle Cedar like a nice little boy.
After they pass the tavern, he continues. Cedar is one hero. You know wise uncle too, with nice friends and dead family in the tall tree. The tree cries ghost tears, but they are happy tears. They walk in quiet for several minutes, approaching a cove on the village outskirts.
The locathah and his friend came home and killed the invisible worms so no more friends would run crying into jaws of death. Then they murdered all bad rass berries until there were none left alive. Sometimes, bad people try to sneak the evil berries here and then drop the seeds, but the locathah and Uncle Karl are very smart and always find the bad little seedlings. Uncle Karl was a hero too. Did you know he was little once, just like you?
The farmer sits down in the white sand. Beachgrass shivers as something huge burrows under the dune; an insectile head as big as a horse slowly rises. The boy hops off his father’s shoulder and tries to understand what’s so fascinating about the waves. Llyu-Llyu swam away a long time ago. You never met. She wanted to explore the blue and deep. I thought it is what I wanted too. But sometimes, heroes stay.
The farmer brings out a fresh bladder of kelp tea. Sitting on the dune, they watch the sun settle into the waves.
Silt grins at Toby. Silt was wondering… and an answer comes. Friends know best.
He blushes a little. Here, I was making this. The shape in the coral called to me, and I thought of you. He hands Toby a piece of coral he had been carving while they camp. It's of a dog blasting apart what looks like a tangle of weeds — likely rass berries. The dog and the target are deep red coral, but the blast connecting the two is a brilliant, icy blue.
This one can resist? Why is this so, Joli? I see broken things here that should have died long ago. What is broken may be weak. Friends suffer, and this one would have us lighting a broken temple to dead azlan. For friends to see their suffering better? Cruelty. Let broken things lie, while friends die!
Silt is just confused by all the circuits/circlets and generators and technobabel, and sees no reason to trust this creature. Further, he sees no reason why running repair missions matters when friends are trapped nearby. It seems like more delay. He will go along with it if everyone wants, tbough.
Silt narrows his eyes. Generations steal the strength from the ground? Azlan Tea should put back, if they take. If not, one day dirt will get tired, and stop making nice tubers.
He turns to Purpose. Purpose, will fixing circlets help our friends? Silt thinks this is not a good time for shiny head decorations.
Silt stops dead in his tracks when he hears the Ghost Lanterns speak. He thinks back to Cedar's Aklo lessons around the campfire, and his old friend's patient laughter. Cedar picked up Aquan so easily.…
Aklo:
You dance air like pretty mantas. Were water here, Silt'chaak would dance with you and grin. He tries to smile, showing his needle-sharp teeth.
I am Silt'chaak. This is Purpose, and Prince Joli, and Riku. We are all nice people making home on a far island. We swam here to find friends who were taken by evil worms. The worms wear other faces and trick nice people. Our friends are caged, and cannot dance or smile.
The little Wurr Woods — he gestures at Purpose — are friends, too. Look-, Lock-, Lowk Woo Doh. Lowk Woo Doh the Wurr Wood told us the Ghost Lanterns know everything on this island. Do you know where our friends suffer? Please tell us, so we can murder every faceless worm to the last, and unchain our friends so they can dance again in the air or water.
Silt buffs himself with greater Longstrider and Greater Magic Fang. He also casts Cloak of Shade to protect his eyes from bright light (something he should have been doing for a while now), and Deadeye's Lore to help track. Before going inside the structure, he casts Barkskin. He's in scrag form.
That night Silt spends a long time alone in a corner, counting slowly on his fingers over and over again, muttering to himself.
Hours later, in the middle of the night, he taps on Riku's shoulder, waking him.
I practice the magic-sounding words, like you said I could.
He recites:
Finding rass berry Shiny rock in magic bag Drips now happy red
His eyes gleam in the low firelight. Can you see? Rock is happy: it murdered berry and is drenched in blood. Pretty words! He goes off to sleep near his bag of rocks, content.
Why? Because it is hard to fool cunning Silt. He sees all of you, hiding like little rass berries in the shadow.he points to any others hiding as he speaksSilt has a strong position, with friends, against the mean wyrwoods. And he is still being a nice Locathah.
if there are no more wyrwood:
Why? I see… he slowly counts on his fingers, Three. Three little wyr-woods. He counts again, on the other hand. Five. Five nice friends. Five nice friends who come here with presents, arms wide.
Cuttlefish change color — in the sea, sand, kelp, or coral. It may be the nice wyrwoods are changing too, becoming mean, stuck on this island forever circled with enemies. It would be sad if they never had friends, or learned to swim further and free.
Silt pulls out a rock from the mimic’s bag. These pretty stones are prized on your island. I have pieces of carved coral, as well, but that is only for friends.
Silt turns back into a Locathah, revealing his true form as directed.
He attempts to aid Purpose by telling of their brave adventures. Yes friends. Not worms. I am a nice locathah. See? We killed the mean table in the old house, and took its rocks. We did not run from mean ghosts in the forest, and now the little birds sing again. We come to save our taken friends.
Silt smells himself — his normal fragrance of Locathah is even stronger than normal. Maybe camp at beach. I would like to swim: the ghostie did a strange thing to me.
Silt peers into the bag again. I do not see meta-phors or symm-ee-lees in the bag. These strange rocks you speak of must be elusive as a Karl stalking rass berry picking goblins.
