(A Bastion Tale)
It was a quiet afternoon in the Bastion. Glorb and Brother Kralj sat side-by-side on a lichen-covered bench near the greenhouse.
Glorb held a cup of Erasmo’s stew. He did not eat it. He simply held it.
Glorb: “Glorb.”
Brother Kralj: “No, I don’t think it’s Nyxis. But the timing is suspicious.”Glorb: “…glorb?”
Brother Kralj: “I haven’t ruled out Bahram either. He’s theatrical. And there were sparks.”Glorb swirled the stew. A mushroom blinked at him. He blinked back.
In the background, a birdfolk agent lost his balance on the roof and tumbled into a bush. They ignored it.
Brother Kralj: “I miss when the only mystery was how Dry Bones kept misplacing his ribs.”
Glorb: “Glorb.”
They sat in silence for a while longer. The tree creaked. Somewhere, a kettle whistled.
Glorb: (softly) “Glorb…”
Brother Kralj: “Me too.”