![]() ![]() Her movements signified frustration rather than anger. “History is a respected and valued profession.” Her intricate body language conveying unyielding parental concern, the senior female ruffled her feathers as she straightened in her chair. “I still do not understand why you felt it necessary to choose such a dangerous and uncertain occupation.” “Someone has to do it, Mother.” With the prehensile, featherless tips of her left wing Lalelelang nervously fingered the four small plates of food arranged in the standard midday meal pattern before her. Her mother inclined forward, sipping through her beak delicately and with perfect grace from the damascened aperitif container. The proper venues have been notified.” Lalelelang’s tone was deferential but firm. “You could even be, dare I venture the notion, a landscaper!” Engineering is wide open to you, as is the entire range of organic architecture.” Gold-tipped lashes fluttered above wide, blue-green eyes. You show flashes of brilliance in narrative poetry as well as industrial design. ![]() “Among your age and study group your potential gradient is by far the highest, as it is among the family. “You could be so many things,” her mother was saying. Her father would be informed of the results only when the females saw fit. ![]() So the disagreeable task was left to her mother. Her grandmother would have been even more forceful in her objections, but that honored life-giver was two years deceased, clipped, embalmed, and reverently ensconced in the family mausoleum. As the dominant surviving representative of their matrilineal line, her mother had to say such things it was her place. Like every other aspect of Wais society, dining had been raised to a fine art. One for the aperitif, one for the main course, a third filled with a lightly citrus-flavored spring water for ceremonial clearings of the palate between bites. Lalelelang’s mother toyed with the three traditional drinking utensils in front of her. In that they were no different from the majority of their allies. It was a support that had never wavered, one as strong as their desire to shun actual combat. Like every other member race of the Weave, they had sponsored the war against the Amplitur from the beginning, over a thousand years ago. It was a responsibility the Wais took seriously. Even among their detractors there was no denying that Wais society and civilization represented the zenith of Weave culture, one that other species could only aspire to emulate even when Wais action (or lack of it) proved exasperating. Sometimes this engendered a mixture of contempt and envy among the other members of the Weave, who would deride the Wais for their manners and formalities while secretly admiring their ability to develop or find beauty in everything. In socialization as in everything else, the Wais found beauty in definition. Where possible the Wais preferred to restrict the size of their cities to less than five million but more than one. Home to slightly more than two million, the community of Turatreyy was one of the larger on Mahmahar, and its inhabitants were proud to call it home. In such a setting it was the larger structures that looked like interlopers and not the other way around. Architecture that emphasized the harmonious while intertwining with gardens and parks made sure of that. On the contrary, it barely resembled a city at all, much less the kinds of metastacizing metropolises one found on the Hivistahm or O’o’yan worlds. Not that the city had the slightest overtone of urban sprawl. The vast number of gardens and parks demanded by custom and aesthetics further contributed to the large areas occupied by even modest conurbations. Mahmahar was not that heavily populated, but since by law no structure could be more than four stories tall, expansion was predominantly horizontal. From their present height they could see much of the city spread out before them, an urbanized extravagance that covered a vast amount of territory. You know that we all do.” They reposed on the slightly raised dining platform on the external lip of the restaurant. “I wish that you would not do this thing. ![]() THE SPOILS OF WAR The Damned - 03 Alan Dean Foster 1 ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |