I haven’t seen a creature like this.

I’m pretty sure…

I swim around in my brain a bit, pulling at strings and knocking on doors. There are still places that are locked, but from what I can dig through there’s no one quite like the dying child before me.

Its breathing staggers, in a way I associate with sickness, and its breath hits the air as steam. It’s not because it’s hot in a cold room. It’s the opposite.

My finger beneath its nose is enough to confirm the thought.

I wonder what it would be like if the fragile little creature could take a deeper breath. But it doesn’t. Its chest makes little movements, barely discernible beneath the sack its body is drowning in. It has a glow to it, like the boulder, and with each intake there’s a hum of light that grows beneath its skin. It follows the veins, dips down to disappear beneath its collar, then throttles back up the throat, pulsing dimly with every exhale. And then… between minutes of breathing, there’s a rattle that turns into a pause…a pause that’s too long.

The first time it happened my finger to its neck, where a pulse should be. The skin is ice cold and I’m shocked into stillness before I feel a thready beat. Then…too many seconds later, another little exhale steams the air and I pull back.

The bird left me long ago. It wanted me to stay, if I was reading it correctly, so I sat cross-legged on the floor, looking at my charge.

I wonder at its name, about where it’s from, who its parents are. Does it have parents? Or did it somehow manifest from a dozen stray ice cubes tumbling down a mountain. I don’t have anything to compare it to, so I’m not sure.

I gaze around the room when its breath hits a steady rhythm. The wooden walls are the same material as the buildings I passed. Lavender rings glow dimly, and I realize, rather disturbingly, that a lot of things have been glowing since I arrived.

I try to tally them in my mind, racing through my recent travels.

There was the glow of the symbols in the tower, and again in the city. There was the glow of the wood in the alley, the glow of the boulder that found me, and the ember it ate. And now my little ice companion with its beating light. They were all glowing.

I realize the bird does not, which calms me a bit. In fact, as I think back, many of the children that I saw were absent of inner light…not that I looked long considering the pain behind my eyes.

It was interesting, important…probably.

My gaze dips to the stick still attached to my waist. Would they know how to work this? Could I harness whatever that glow was to turn this stick back into a sword?

A sloshing sound erupts behind me and I turn to watch the little bird slide through the wall. Its face looks…serious, I decide. It’s in the dipping creases around its beak, and the slight shuttering of its eyes. The bird’s hands have three fingers each. Its nails curl like claws, but the fingers look like soft leather.

I really hope that’s not where the clothes come from…

Elusive images of meat choose now to jump to the forefront of my mind and I clench my teeth when I consider the implications.

I’m becoming a vegetarian. Was that the word?

Yup, a vegetarian. If there is any meat in this world I’ve decided right now to suspect its origins.

The bird ignores my inner struggle and curls its fingers into the fabric of its clothes. After a moment the hand extends, a tiny white crescent in its palm. I take it tentatively, and the bird’s hand pulls back, crooking to touch its head. At first I’m not sure what the gesture means, and I try to interpret the motion before I realize its pointing at a specific spot. A claw tugs at the feathers and I just spy a tiny hole before they fall back into place.

Is it…an ear?

I point at my own and the bird’s head bobs in response.

Hmm. Guess that’s right then. But what am I supposed to…

I study the shape and size, and after noting the stare of my companion I decide to hook it around the curve of my ear. The bird chirps something, I assume in approval. And its little hand fishes into its cloth again, this time pulling out a clear container. Inside is what looks like red dust. It has a similar color to the ember rock, and when it flickers with light I wonder if this is a ground down variety.

The bird pops the lid and dips a nail into the dust. The bird then extends its hand toward my ear. I hear a tap, and feel the slightest vibration from the crescent. Finally, my companion speaks.

“Al hevp havpula wadzhemhur a repeul.”

The words are distinct, no longer run together in indistinguishable combinations. I can hear the separation. I feel my eyebrows shoot up in surprise and the bird makes a clicking noise. It leans forward, no dust in its claws this time, and taps again.

The words pour forth a second time in a quiet, chirping voice.

“Imminently to be known to me wadzhemhur to function.”

I grimace, before the shock of understanding overtakes me.

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“I heard that.” I look at the bird. “I heard that.”

It looks displeased and taps again, then once more higher along the crescent.

“Al vepu᷾m wadzhemhur to not function.”

It taps one final time and I feel a vibration against my ear.

The bird's head cocks to the side and its wide eyes look at me expectantly.

“Now I’ll know if the wadzhemhur is working.”

“Wow.” My mind is buzzing, uncertain what to do.

“Is it working?” the bird asks.

“Umm…yes. What is a wadzhemhur?”

The bird’s head tilts to the other side and its big eyes blink. “Wadzhemhur…hmm. I guess that word doesn’t translate for you. There must not be a match in your language.”

A match… “So,” I tap the crescent on my ear, “this is a translation device?”

“It is. Which means, you can now answer my questions. Who are you?”

The wrinkles around the beak dip again and I gather that our meeting has turned serious.

“I…” I look around, uncertain how to answer. Who am I? I don’t even know. I’d never considered in the past weeks that I’d have to introduce myself to someone. “I don’t know.”

The bird’s eyes blink, slowly. “You don’t know?”

I nod, feeling oddly intimidated by the tiny creature. But the question prompts me to ask one of my own. “Who are you?”

The bird straightens, its feathers ruffling all at once. “I am Naalfemwe᷾p.”

“Nilefemware…”

“…close.”

I feel heat suffuse my cheeks. “So, maybe I don’t understand your species well enough,” actually I definitely didn’t, “but you’re pretty well-spoken for a kid. What are you? Like six maybe?” Honestly, understanding ages still alluded me, and I wasn’t even sure how old I was in comparison, but six seemed like a pretty good guess.

“I don’t understand.”

“Umm…your age. How many years have you been alive.”

“Ah. I have lived el vepu᷾emuu. I am no longer a child.” The bird gestures to the ice creature. “The rest here, including Luren, have lived el vepu᷾moo.”

“Lorraine?” I decided to focus on that, then the completely meaningless ages.

“Lorraine?”

The bird grimaces, and it’s easy to spot this time. “Close.”

I touch the crescent in frustration. “How does this work anyway? You can hear me and I can hear you?”

“I have my own, so yes.”

“But it doesn’t translate the way I say the words?”

“Well,” the bird taps a clawed nail against its head. “It’s not a clean alteration. You can adjust it to different degrees depending on the species to clarify what’s translated and what’s not. For Welashrepal more degrees are necessary.”

“I’m assuming that’s…a person?”

“The Welashzhav who brought you here is called Welashrepal.”

I feel a slight throb of pain and shudder. “Can I adjust mine?”

The bird shakes its head. “Unfortunately, no. I’m guessing there’s a lot missing?”

“Well,” the pain dims and I release a breath, “it’s not a lot. Just enough to give me a headache. On another note, Nile…”

“Naal is fine.”

“Okay. Nile…”

The…adult holds up a hand to stop me. “I have another question I must have answered. Are you the one who lost the pulelman?”

Pulelman? I pause, just to make sure it’s another foreign word and not something that I simply don’t remember. Ugh! This is somehow more frustrating than not understanding at all. “I don’t know. I don’t know what poolaelmon is.”

The bird clicks its tongue and its gaze darts around. Finally, it pulls the bottle of dust from its clothes again. It points a claw at the dust. “Like this.” Then it points at the icy creature’s curled up hands. “But this color.”

My eyes narrow, considering. “Do you mean the blue sand?”

"Blue sand, yes. Pulelman. Did you leave it in the street where Welashrepal found you?”

Ah. I guess some fell out of my pocket while tumbling. I’d be more surprised if none had wiggled their way to freedom.

“Four grains were found.” The bird continues. “No one claimed them, so of course the local government took possession. I imagine three will go to the coffers of Hevpaaleful while one will be kept as a reward. But they were not the city’s to begin with. So…were they yours?”

“Yes…” Well, they probably were. But then again this place is surrounded by the stuff so couldn’t it logically be anyone’s? “Maybe. Does it matter?”

“It does. You can save her.”

“What?”

The bird looks at the dying child. Its breath wavers, just a bit, before melding back into shallow breathing. “I realize it is not a small ask, and in return I will commit my life to you in service. Do you accept?”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Nope! I mean yes, but no to the life service.” I throw up my hands. “Why would you do that, there is literally sand everywhere! You may feel like an adult but that is not a wise decision. It’s bad. It’s very bad.”

The bird looks unimpressed and for the first time I think it cocks an eyebrow, whatever that would be on its feathery face. “Red sand - yes, but not Pulelman.” Its eyes shutter and the frown reappears. “What do you mean it’s everywhere?”

What…do I mean? I consider the question, wondering how our communication is on completely different pages, except… what if...

What exactly was the shard I fell through?

“So…” I look at the bird. “Are you saying there’s not…blue sand…everywhere?”

The creature seems to sense the shift in my mood because its feathers settle and the voice that comes out is surprisingly soft. “Pulelman is extremely rare. Many spend their lives seeking a single grain. Some have killed for it. And…” It looks at the child. “Some may live because of it.”

So… it’s valuable. Extremely even. Part of me doubts that the sand in my jean pockets can be rare. But if it is… It’s definitely something I need to confirm.

“Nile…” I reach into my pocket and pinch between my fingers a couple of grains. I pull them out and extend my hand towards the bird, finger outstretched with the glittering blue sand on the tip. “Is this…poolaelmon?”

The bird doesn’t need to answer. Its eyes are wide, wider than they’d ever been. Its feathers stand up on its shoulders and its completely still, staring.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

It seems I’m carrying contraband again…or, I fish in my brain for a comparison…treasure, technically?

I step towards the ice creature. It’s not a hard choice. I have more sand than I know what to do with. But honestly, “What am I supposed to door here? Touch her with it?”

The bird finally breaks from its stupor and steps forward. A clawed finger reaches out and touches the child’s bottom lip. It pulls carefully, opening the mouth even further. Cold breath fogs the air like a cloud. “Feed it to her.”

I hold my finger over her mouth.

“Wait. Just one.”

“Oh uhm.” I pinch a grain off of my finger and tuck it back into my pocket.

“Yes, go ahead.”

The remaining grain tumbles from my finger into the ice child’s mouth.

The reaction is nearly instantaneous. Light flares in the creature’s chest, bright enough to be a beacon even through the sack. Her back twists and the eyes shoot wide. They’re completely white and…they’re glowing.

The light bleeds out after a moment, rocketing through the veins that spider over her skin until finally it thrums like a beat near her throat. The body slackens and she slumps against the boxes with a deep breath.

“Luren?” the bird calls. It reaches out a clawed hand and holds the child’s hand. “Can you hear me?”

A whine seeps through her lips and a small tear forms in the creature’s icy eye. The drop freezes as it touches her skin and falls with a crash onto the floor.

“You’re okay. You’re okay now.”

The bird sighs and its head droops. Its shoulders relax and it turns to me. It looks…relieved.

“Thank you,” the bird says.

“You’re welcome.”

“And…I have one more favor to ask.” It’s serious again, or rather, maybe it always was.

“Okay. Do you want more sand?”

It smiles then. “Of sorts.”

The feathers fan out in a brilliant display. It dips at the hip, curving down into a bow. “Please.” Its eyes meet mine. “Please…”

The shatter of another tear breaks the silence.

“Take my children home.”