Ode to Broken Things "May whatever breaks be reconstructed by the sea with the long labor of its tides." Pablo Neruda. Timestamp: 78th Day of Fall, 513 AV A chill wind swept through the street, weaving between sodden wood and toppled stone. It danced between raindrops, flew over sunken roofs and sailed through splintered doorways, leaving memories of winters past lying in its wake. Though it was daytime, the overcast sky created a grey gloom that hung over the city like a fog. Naeya shivered and tightened her cloak, pulling the hood over her head to ward off the drizzling rain. She stood at the edge of the Sunset Quarters, regarding the damage the storm had wrought. She'd heard that these slums had been hit hardest by the storm, and, standing there now, she didn't doubt a word of it. Row upon row of cheap housing had either sunk into itself, collapsed completely, or become so waterlogged that there was no doubt it would soon crumble. On the outskirts of the slums, a gathering of residents and foreigners alike worked to loose debris from the scene. For a city that prided itself on its lack of order, Naeya observed, they were surprisingly organized when it came to dealing with natural disasters. The populace had separated itself into three primary groups. The first concerned itself with clearing out debris from various houses, another sorted rubbish from salvageable material, and the last carried off the rubbish in carts and wheelbarrows toward the Slag Heap. "What can I do to help?" she asked, approaching a balding man preoccupied with wheeling out a cart stacked with wood. Despite the stark differences between herself and the Sunberthians, this little slum had been her home for a season and it was not in her nature to shy away from offering her help. She may not have been as strong as many of the men, but she was able-bodied, hardworking, and could easily hold her own. The man looked at her doubtfully for a moment before nodding toward a small group of people dutifully clearing out the remains of a broken home. "There," he replied, his voice rough with age. "They could use the extra pair of hands." "Thank you!" Naeya called after the man as he ambled away. She brushed a stray streak of rain from her face and moved to join the workers. Her leather boots crunched over a discarded plate as she made her way over to the home. Halfway there, however... BOOM. A thunderous noise shook the slums, and Naeya's attention became consumed by the erratic collapse of a building just beyond her destination. A woman's shriek pierced the air, followed by urgent shouting, and several workers dropped their tasks and began to run toward the wreckage. Naeya realized she, too, had broken into a run. She sprinted forward against the protests of her limbs, stiff from the cold. Her arms pumped as she darted around one worker after nearly crashing into another. She came to a hasty stop upon reaching the waterlogged edge of the collapsed building, inches away from knocking over the person in front of her. Her heart pounded from both concern and exertion, and her hood fell down, revealing worried green eyes beneath. The konti turned to the person she'd almost run into, her voice frantic. "Was someone in there? Was anyone hurt?" |