Julian woke much earlier than Avery—well, this one. Having such varied schedules was actually an advantage for Julian, it meant that he could spend his time with more than one of the pieces of his best friend. It would’ve been much simpler to think that only Avery was the same person and that all the others were clones—but that worldview had not survived evidence. The truth was that every little piece was something he recognized, and every one of them cared about him in her own way.
So he took advantage—rising carefully so as not to wake an Avery who rarely rose from her bed before noon. She moaned faintly, reaching for him with one hoof as he rose. Julian nudged a pillow into her arms, then pulled the covers up over her and slipped out the balcony. Lynn wouldn’t be up either—the child had learned her mother’s schedule—so he wouldn’t have to peel her off him to escape.
Julian slipped out the balcony window, and was unsurprised to find a pony floating in the air outside, with a basket slung over her back. It was Posy, her tan coat and orange mane helping her blend into the morning sunlight a little. “I thought you’d be up,” she said, as though she had just happened by. “Want breakfast?”
“Sure.” He could see the little jar poking out of her basket—filled with a meal of mixed nectar and pollen. Only Avery really had much taste for solid food. But that was fine—nectar was inoffensive enough. Meals made from it would never impress him, but at least they never offended his picky sensibilities. “Did you have a spot in mind?”
“The top.” Posy pointed up the trunk of the tree. “The sun is just coming up. We can watch the rest of it if we get up high.”
“Sure.” Julian knew the spots she liked, so this suggestion was not terribly strange to him. It was either atop the trees, or near the pond, or in the cafe that Pepper ran. Posy liked her routines. “Let’s see if we can catch it.”
They didn’t, but then they didn’t try terribly hard. Actually watching the sunrise was rarely the point anymore, now that they’d been living here long enough to see hundreds of them.
Flying along the trunk of the tree was a frightening thing, even in Formenos where there was nothing dangerous to threaten them. Julian could fly almost forever, but Posy was clearly straining her wings by the time they broke through the canopy of the tallest branch, and into the ocean of leaves and twigs. In other parts of the jungle, being up so high would invite being eaten by a passing bird—but at the very center of the jungle, the only birds that got this far were friendly. No one had ever been eaten in Formenos.
Posy served him, and Julian made sure to comment vocally about how much he enjoyed her latest concoction. The breezie was always experimenting with different plants and types of nectar in her food, but the profiles were similar enough that it was almost impossible to make a mistake. Today’s nectar had been chilled and blended with bits of mint. The two of them made a point of using spoons and bowls, even though it would’ve been easier to just reach out with a disgusting long tongue and slurp out of the jar.
“Do you think you’ll have any more with Avery?” Posy asked, one hoof resting all the time on her tiny notebook. She typically didn’t write it in during their visits together, except for on the rare occasions when Julian was with her for the whole day. In those cases she could never keep her hooves away for quite long enough.
“We haven’t stopped trying.” Julian looked away, blushing. “Isn’t it weird for you to be asking about things like this? Shouldn’t you be… uncomfortable that I’m with someone else? This is supposed to be really uncomfortable… like those weirdos who used to live out in the desert… the Amish?”
“No.” Posy shook her head. “Not the Amish. And I don’t think so. Avery is me. April is me, Emily is me… they all are. Loving them is just loving me. We either had to accept it or kill each other with jealousy. I’m glad I was so practical, otherwise fairies might get hurt.” Her eyes narrowed. “Now, if you flew off with some other fairy, like one of those new ones you made yesterday… then I’d be angry.”
Julian slumped slightly, grumbling quietly. Not because he planned on dating someone who wasn’t an Avery—rather, because he remember the hospital. He had planned on visiting them today. In a few more hours they would all wake up, and then he could fly in. And after that, he would have to help deal with the ones who were still giant.
“Don’t remind me,” he muttered. “I’ll be lucky if they don’t want to kill me after what I did to them. Also, one of them was all guys.”
“Is that why you and Trip haven’t had any eggs?”
Julian nearly coughed up his last spoonful of breakfast. “N-no. Trip is fine. She’s cute in a… vocaloids sort of way. It’s not that I don’t like her, it’s that she doesn’t like guys.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Posy said, without malice. And she probably meant it—knowledge of that particular subject wasn’t in this fairy. She was simultaneously very traditional about her ideas of what ponies ought to do, which was why she made him breakfast—but also creative in her hobbies. She was a pretty good storyteller, and even better at poetry. “But if you’ve got a few minutes, I’ve got something to read for you.” She put away the jar, opening her notebook. “I’ve just about got this pitch worked out for our tabletop on Saturday. Don’t tell the other players I gave you spoilers.”
“My lips are sealed,” Julian muttered. “Oh, uh… are you ever gonna tell us what happened to the boat?”
Posy groaned loudly, snapping her notebook open to the middle. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask that so I don’t have to push you off this tree.”
“They don’t look happy,” April muttered from the bushes ahead of Julian, peering through the glowing mushrooms at the “preserve.” Julian could see the ponies beyond gathered around the corpse of their bus, eating salvaged food and muttering darkly to one another.
He tried to imagine what they might be saying—but nothing his mind conjured was good. How would I feel if I was being held hostage by evil fairies I’d watched kill some random people right in front of me? That wasn’t what had happened, obviously, but that didn’t mean they would understand all the facts.
April seemed to realize that—she was the only breezie who had dared come this far with him, even though the city ostensibly had an army that obeyed him when it came time to fight. An army that they had trained to be prepared to fight—against monsters. April wasn’t in the army, but she was the mayor, and she was also the bravest Avery there was. She’d saved his life once, when he’d been trapped by one of the fungus-tenders in a little rock crevice on the border. When no breezy in the army had dared, she’d descended with a little pointed stick, and risked her life for him.
“But what do we do with them?” Julian asked. “I already talked to Avery—there’s nowhere safe for giants to live on the whole continent. There are only a few safe places left, all in Africa.”
“We can’t kill them,” she muttered, as though chastising a thought she knew he had. He didn’t—though he shivered a little as she said it. Obviously she had, if she felt the need to say that. “They’re humans like us.”
“I know!” He landed beside her in the shrubs, shoving her with one hoof. “I hadn’t planned on it.”
She looked sidelong at him, as though she doubted it but wasn’t going to argue. “What about that new power of yours. I haven’t had the chance to visit the hospital yet.”
Julian had, this morning. He shook his head. “They weren’t… they weren’t happy about it. Don’t you remember how upset you were? How you… tried to get back together?”
“I never tried to get back together,” she argued. “And I wasn’t that upset. I knew the price I was paying to save you.”
Julian looked away, antennae tucking behind his ears. “You all say that.”
“We all knew what we were doing,” April muttered. “Because they were all part of me back then. Once those other parts got split they lost their spines. Anyway, I’ve already considered forcibly splitting the other 18 giants. It’s a terrible idea. That’s over two hundred new breezies—about the same as our current population. Our services couldn’t handle it. Thirty-seven is going to be hard enough. Unless you think you could convince them all…”
“No.” Julian stuck out a hoof. “I’m not even going to try that. No one in their right mind would accept an offer like that.”
Avery almost looked offended. “That doesn’t seem fair. Didn’t we turn out okay?”
He nodded. “Sure, you did. But I know the others real close. It was painful for them—still is for some of them.”
April made an unhappy grumbling sound. “The city council and I have come up with an alternative. We could… expand the preserve. Give them… however much space it takes for giants to grow food and stuff. Not try to supervise them at all, just—let them be their own colony. So long as we respect each others’ borders, it shouldn’t be a problem… in the short term. In the long-term, we are depending on their mercy. If they’re successful, a few generations down the road and I’ll have a thousand giants burning up the jungle and attacking Formenos. We’ll have to make sure we keep diplomatic ties with them the whole time, so they don’t want to.” She sighed, antennae falling flat in front of her. “Being moral is a lot of work. It would be so much safer to just… turn them all into rabbits or whatever and forget about it.”
I knew you were thinking about killing them. Most Averies would not have been comfortable with a proposal like that. But April—she was leader for a reason. She’d always been better at making tough choices.
“It’s worth it,” Julian muttered. “Working together with the giants could be great for both of us if we can work it out. Just think about how much more we could do when I was stuck as a huge monster. Formenos wouldn’t be half the size it is right now.”
“I guess you’re right.” April took off again, prompting him to do the same. Together they started flying towards the ruined bus, over the poisonous plants that would sedate any of the giants if they tried to stray too far. Julian was pleased to see they had obeyed his cautionary instructions from the night before, and none of them had tried to flee.
He wasn’t going to enjoy this—but at least it was the last worst thing on his schedule for the day. He would find a way to make it work. Mark down another miracle for Julian today if they don’t try to murder me.
And they didn’t, though Julian couldn’t take much credit for that. As it turned out, the bus had contained just over half a dozen of the Survival guides, which its passengers had found during the intervening hours. This meant Julian didn’t have to take up that burden himself. That meant they were more receptive to learning the brutal truth of their situation.
The passengers were not a single faction, which was an advantage and disadvantage. Advantage, because the three people on the bus he’d exploded didn’t mean much to them—they hadn’t been family of anyone. But it also made things more difficult, since they couldn’t act as a unit. They didn’t have to win over one faction, but 18 individuals. No simple task.
With April’s help, and the later arrival of the more cognizant parts of the people he had exploded, Julian eventually managed to get everything out and extract an agreement of peace. Whether they would keep it remained to be seen. Avery would be unavailable for the next few days, as she devoted all her time and magic to teleporting the army back from the borders.
If the fungus won a few more miles during the time it took to settle things with the new giants, then that was the price they paid. He could ignore the gnawing desire in his gut to keep expanding the jungle for a few years.
Eventually, the negotiations ended. Julian didn’t fly back to Formenos, though, because somepony else was waiting for him in a monster truck.
Well, a monster truck from the perspective of a breezie. Kari’s vehicle had, of course, been built from salvaged parts, mostly toys and other detritus they’d salvaged from the ruins. It was probably not even two feet tall, but even at that size the little thing looked monstrous—huge rubber tires, a single giant battery in back, and a cabin that was disproportionally large for the vehicle’s size.
Kari popped out the open door, grinning up at him from behind her goggles. There was nopony else aboard—most breezies scattered when one of Kari’s little machines got close, including her own children. But Julian wasn’t afraid, he landed delicately on the other side and clambered into the cabin.
It wasn’t professional-looking in there, not exactly. Kari had made much of it with glass sheet and salvaged silicon glue, meaning they could stay dry inside even when it rained but also look out at the world as they drove. There were four seats in here, and Julian took the passenger’s side, returning Kari’s grin.
“I didn’t know there were good trails this far out.”
“There aren’t,” she responded, manipulating a series of levers and dials with her forelegs. Despite the toy-car base, the controls didn’t really resemble an automobile interior—it was all salvaged sensors and scrap parts.
That didn’t seem to bother Kari, though. She did a quick turn without so much as blinking, before roaring off the way they’d come. It was easy to see the path the little truck had taken, since various little plants had been destroyed in her way.
Not that it made much difference. This close to the center of breezie life, the entire jungle could probably regrow in a few weeks.
Other breezies would probably not be able to destroy whole swathes of it without feeling a little guilty. But this particular slice of Avery was entirely focused on her inventions, her machines.
“So, about the Saturday game…” Kari said, over the sound of the electric motor. It wasn’t difficult to talk while they drove, considering how quiet it was. “Do you think I should play an alchemist, or a paladin?”
Julian stiffened a little in his seat. “You pick me up from the preserve after a bus almost crashes into Formenos, and that’s what you wanna know?”
“Well yeah.” Kari used all four legs as she drove, and the controls were spread so she didn’t have to reach too far. She seemed a master of her strange setup, never needing to look down and see what switch she was about to flip, or what knob she was about to twist. “I’m not the pony handling that, am I? April has it in hand I’m sure. She had your help, and you’re smart. But I am in the game on Saturday, and I want to know whether or not Posy’s new campaign is going to have us fighting much evil or not.”
They splashed through what seemed like a roaring river, Kari squealing with glee as they did so.
“What makes you think I would know?” he asked, pretending as though he had become very interested in the view out his side window. Not that there was much to see, just the jungle with its glowing aura and the moonlight streaming in from above.
“Cuz’ Posy is crap at keeping secrets and I know you have breakfast with her when she’s in town. I know she would’ve talked about it…” Kari whined loudly, distracted enough that she slowed in her driving. “You don’t have to tell me everything! I just don’t want to waste time making a Paladin and find out that I’m never going to use half my powers because nothing is evil.”
Julian finally looked back. “I think you should make an alchemist. But you can’t tell her I told you that.”
Kari nodded sagely, drawing a hoof across her lips. “Not even the flowers will hear me when I eat breakfast in the morning.”
“At noon,” Julian corrected. “They won’t hear you because they’ll already be asleep.”
Kari pumped the brakes dramatically enough that the car jerked a little, glaring sideways at him. “Don’t even start with me. I’m not the only Avery who wakes up at a reasonable hour and you know it.”
They passed into an open field, and suddenly they were bumping too violently to hold pleasant conversation anymore. Julian stared out the window, and he could see why—the huge tracks the bus had made in the dirt here, almost as wide as Kari’s whole car, were what she’d chosen as their trail. Probably intentionally, since the terrain varied wildly. There were places where they’d dug in deep, places where they’d exposed rocks.
Judging on the sound, it seemed to be a real strain for the motors, which skipped a few times on the steeper slopes. But Kari never really cared about the fate of her machines—the destruction of one was only an opportunity to build another, even better than the last.
Well, except one.
Kari slowed to a crawl as they finally made it into Formenos. She turned on a bright light on the front and swung it around a few times to make sure there were no ponies hiding in the flowers. Most young breezies would be long asleep by now, but if they weren’t, such a bright light would frighten them away.
Only when she seemed satisfied did Kari start moving again, towards the tree on the furthest end of the city. The one with the massive structure built into and covering the bottom of the tree, the garage and workshop that transitioned to a hospital as it merged with the upper floors.
Kari’s house, but so much more. There was even an automatic garage, which opened for them as soon as Kari bridged two bare wires attached to the ceiling. The workshop itself was filled with gigantic tools, most of what they’d salvaged. Kari had a half-dozen apprentices, but few of them would still be at work so close to nightfall, and none had to get out of their way as Kari parked the truck on a raised platform made of toy blocks.
“Let me guess, we’re doing nectar for dinner.”
Kari ignored him for a few moments, switching off all the various knobs and dials involved with driving the truck. Then she sat up, glaring at him. “I’ll have you know I made a sugar cookie. Maybe I shouldn’t share it with you, with that attitude.”
Julian climbed out of the tuck, fluttering up to rest on the windshield. There was no danger of hooves as soft as theirs scratching the glass. “You used your oven again?”
Kari looked away from him as she climbed out. “But someone isn’t interested in that. He just wants nectar again, because that’s the only thing we like. It’s alright, I know how it is.”
He could smell it now—the oven was a tiny toaster-oven salvaged from the ruins, one she often used to cure plastic parts. But Kari sometimes used it for cooking, though little of what she tried to cook ended up tasting very good. Kari had inherited the desire to cook, but not the skill.
This evening’s fare turned out to be more tolerable than many of her previous tries, probably because she’d used a mix. It only tasted stale, instead of all the other ways it could’ve gone wrong. Julian made sure to praise it for her, which practically made her glow with pleasure.
“But how long will you stay here after dinner?” she asked, fluttering over to the elevator. A simple platform, without walls or ceiling, connected with a system of ropes and pulleys with a single switch that could be toggled for up or down. Julian landed beside her on the flat piece of plastic, and they started to rise. The motor was right below them since they were in the workshop, so he was forced to listen to its uncomfortable grinding until they were on their way back up the hospital.
Fortunately for him, he wouldn’t have to see the new citizens again today—they were going all the way to the top. Past half a dozen tiny floors, they eventually reached the end of the shaft—where a physical rod poking out of the wall struck the switch as they rose, switching it off.
Kari donned a white coat from one of the hooks, waiting impatiently until Julian did the same. He was only a little annoyed as he slipped it on—hopefully she wouldn’t see.
The top floor was called “incubation”, and it was easy to feel why. The room felt stuffy and humid, with moisture condensed on a layer of cooking plastic stretched over the ceiling. They moved along a plastic and wooden walkway, which rose over the floor below. A dozen tiny pots were arranged below them, each one with a different species of flower growing in it. They had been attached to rods that made it all the way up the ceiling, with only a few tiny branches also affixed to rods.
Kari stopped at a little microcontroller near the door, sticking her tongue briefly into the contacts. It had no screen, but she had gotten good enough to read the charge with just her tongue, which could apparently serve as an output. “Looks good. 98% humidity, 85 degrees.” She glanced briefly at the clipboard tacked to the wall beside it, but there was nothing on the page. “No hatchings today. Pretty uneventful night.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, and her antennae moved in a specific way. “Maybe there aren’t enough eggs. Maybe we should add a few.”
Julian rolled his eyes. “If you were a guy, your pickup lines would never work.”
“I’m not though.” Kari flicked her tail, but she scooped up another clipboard and set off down the walkway. There was a page for each of the dozen plants, with a number and location for each egg.
They stopped to inspect the first plot, lifting the leaves to expose them. There were seven clear eggs here, each one attached beneath the leaves, with a tiny spike puncturing the stalk of the plant. They were about the size of basketballs now, each one faintly pulsing. They looked perpetually wet—which was a good thing. It hadn’t taken them long to learn that drying out was the first thing that could kill their eggs. If that, and cold, and the death of their host plants could be controlled for, then mortality among the next generation could be reduced almost to a rounding error.
Nature has ways of controlling our numbers. Trying to get around them probably isn’t a great idea. But Julian didn’t care about great ideas. He’d watched hundreds of his eggs die over the first few years. Nature could fuck herself if she thought she was going to get away with murder like that.
“Looks good.” Kari made a few checkmarks, then lowered the leaves. Breezie eggs were even sensitive to light, which was why the only illumination was from a few mushrooms planted near the corners of the room, and whatever came in through the plastic ceiling.
“When was the last time you lost an egg, Kari?”
She visibly tensed at the question, tucking her tail briefly between her legs. She didn’t look back, though—obviously wanted to make it look like she didn’t care. Lots of the newer generation weren’t bothered by such things—eggs were so numerous that a few losses were nothing. They were expected, that was why they produced so many. But Kari, like all the Averies, had a more familiar attitude. “I think… two years ago. The last time we… the last time.” She sighed. “We lost every egg on that sunflower when it died. We should’ve known it needed more direct sunlight. I guess you weren’t really part of that…”
“I heard about it,” Julian muttered. “Even if I can’t follow all of them. You try having a hundred kids in one year, see if you can keep track of them all.”
Kari turned, glaring at him. “I have twenty-six. I can tell you every one of their names. How old they are…”
Julian stopped beside her, shoving her slightly with one hoof. “Kari, stop it, please. Trying to guilt me doesn’t help.”
She sighed, looking away. “Well, you asked. That was the last time I lost some of mine. Eggs still don’t make it sometimes. Maybe… one in fifty? They don’t attach right, and they shrivel up. I think there might be a way around that, some kind of surgery we could do. But I’m no good at doctoring, so someone else should figure that out.”
They checked the rest of the eggs—he wasn’t terribly surprised to see that they were all healthy, but still relieved. Perhaps a third of these eggs were his, instead of all of them. If it hadn’t been for his accidental creation of new citizens for Formenos the day before, every egg that ever came through here would probably be his by some number of generations.
Strangely, he found the heat and humidity didn’t bother him—if anything, Julian felt as though he were somewhere more comfortable in the carefully controlled conditions of the incubation chamber. No small wonder why there were always plenty of volunteers to keep an eye on things during the day.
Kari’s own apartment was past the end of the elevator. There were no ramps connecting down to the hospital, to emphasize the division between them and keep patients from wandering up. But it wasn’t far to fly to Kari’s little house—about average for a breezie in Formenos. They had long-since perfected the method, driving a single piece of curved wood into the trunk the size of the foundation. Plants could then be coaxed to grow up a lattice and form the walls and ceiling, which kept the inside damp and comfortable even on cold days. Kari’s house was two rooms instead of one, with an upper loft reserved for her children. But those had all grown up now, and she hadn’t tried to raise a new batch since the sunflower.
Kari switched on the lights as they came in, before slumping sideways onto the bed and stretching herself out. There were no walls to divide up the space, which melted from kitchen to bedroom to child’s playroom. But there were no children here now; they had the night to themselves.
Julian felt more than a little sleepy by the time he was done with tinkerer-Avery. He wanted to sleep, but he had one last promise left to keep for the day. He crawled out of bed and made his way as quiet as he could to the open balcony.
A pony had landed there, one a little smaller than he was but far stranger looking. Emily smiled at him as he exited the safety of Kari’s little house, embracing him with a light gesture. Her wings remained folded to her back, though Julian could still see how strange they were. Not transparent anymore, but tan and covered with patterns. Including a bright green eye looking out from each of them, like the Jungle itself was watching.
Emily had gotten fluffier over the last few years, her antennae longer and twisted on her head. She didn’t have hooves anymore, but soft pads, making her completely silent as she moved. She didn’t speak, just gestured away—Kari was a light sleeper, and they couldn’t talk here.
I wish you weren’t nocturnal. Emily was an interesting pony—in some ways, she was Avery’s opposite talent. Her powers were just as incredible, her determination to magic no less impressive—but towards breezie magic, not what unicorns did.
He could feel it around her as they flew together through the dark. Her magic was powerful enough that it glowed when she moved, like a trail of little after-images. Everything she touched seemed to grow a little better, including people.
She didn’t talk much anymore—Emily only spoke when she was alone with the person she wanted to talk to—and even then, only quietly. “You look tired, Eldest. Long day?” Emily didn’t use names very well, either. He’d tried persuading her, but… she still couldn’t be convinced.
“You can’t even imagine,” he said, trying not to sound sarcastic. “I didn’t think it was going to end. But… it’s almost over now, thank god.”
“You don’t like being the most connected pony in Formenos? Everyone watching, everyone wanting to know how you’ll protect us next… it seems like a dream to me.”
“Sometimes it’s nice,” Julian said, finally landing on one of the flowers they’d been angling towards. They only opened at night, bright yellow and white buds that flashed and shone through the dark. “But sometimes I just want some time to myself. I don’t even have my own house, Emily. Welcome everywhere, but nowhere of my own. I’m not sure I like it.”
“You have a dozen ponies who would love it if you never left,” she said, touching down beside him. Emily didn’t eat—at least, not with anyone around. Julian supposed the moth had to eat eventually, since she didn’t seem to get any smaller or weaker. But he’d never seen it. “You might say that means your home is everywhere.”
“You might,” Julian argued. He didn’t use his tongue, instead taking a long, thin cup from Emily’s offered hoof and sliding it down into the flower. He filled it, then pulled it back up to drink. It wasn’t like other nectars—it tasted almost like alcohol, potent and heady. He felt more awake after just a few sips. “But I haven’t made promises with trees and forests. Too esoteric for me.”
“I could help you understand. The forest would make the same promises with you it did with me. Of course… that necklace might not work anymore. You’d have to give up your dual-nature if you wanted any promises to stick. But I think you’d get the better half.”
Julian did like the idea of not relying on an enchantment—but at the same time, he remembered the x-ray. Remembered his missing hearts, and the bit of magic he had stuck inside him instead. Probably the one who put it there wouldn’t be happy if he tried to get around her work. But isn’t it her forest? She’s got to be the one Emily gets her power from too. She just hasn’t offered as much in exchange.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, in the voice of one who didn’t really plan on thinking about it. “I don’t want to rush into any promises. I know how hard they can be to break.”
Emily nodded. “That is wise of you. But remember, inaction isn’t wisdom. Life is meant to grow—changing is how we know we’re alive. If you try to remain the same person you were forever, you might as well be dead. Then, eventually, you will be.”
Julian shrugged. “Just so long as it doesn’t come in a hurry. I want to live long enough to see Lynn grow up. Maybe to see this little colony become a real city. I’d really like to live long enough for all the fungus to die. Doesn’t have to be our jungle that kills it, so long as it dies.”
Emily settled in against him. Her body was particularly warm, even for a breezie. But then, she didn’t have a house either, so he supposed it would have to be. She was always out here, even in the rain. Even in the snow. “I think you will. I heard about what happened with the giants—I think it’s a good plan. We never thought the jungle would be ours alone. So long as we can remind them what their place is.”
Julian shivered as she said it. There was no forgetting that he was a giant too, at least in some sense. “What place is that?”
Emily took a long time to answer. She looked up at the stars, still visible quite clearly through the trees even with so much electric light and glowing mushrooms. Far more than he’d seen in his human hometown before the Event, anyway. “I don’t know. Working the land, I guess? Building things? Breezies can live forever, but I don’t think we will. Everything we build is impermanent—that’s how it’s supposed to be. The death of one tree feeds an entire ecosystem in its rotting trunk. The wolf is devoured by the worm.
“But the giants can make things that live longer than that—they can build with ideas. One idea does not have to consume another of similar value—they are infinite, eternal. There is no limit to how much wealth we can create from them, without robbing anyone to create it.”
“Breezies can make ideas too. I was just in Kari’s workshop. You’ve seen her car—or the incubation room that keeps our young from freezing. What’s that?”
Emily shook her head sadly. “Avery was a giant—when she became us, we remained like her. But look at our children. In ten generations, how will they live?”
Julian sighed, slumping so far forward he almost fell off the flower. He didn’t, though only because Emily caught him. “I hate it,” he finally whispered. “Watching them give up a little each time. I’d do anything to stop it from happening. Anything.”
“Anything?” Emily repeated, a grin slowly spreading across her lips. “Do you really mean that? It sounds like a promise—I know someone who likes making promises.”