longer.blue

“You say ‘a book’? I have heard that word before, but its meaning is unknown to me. What is a book?” That she hadn’t just torn out his throat and made a meal of him right there was enough of a shock to bypass the confusion that she did not know what a book was. Had he been in healthier spirits, he might have had to suppress an impolite facial expression or mocking tone. Luckily for him, his social pretenses and bladder both had thoroughly evacuated him, and he replied simply and flatly. “A book is a collection of words, written down on paper or parchment. You read them.” “I see.” She spoke slowly. “We do not write often. Our priests carve into stone what is too important to forget. So your ‘Book’ is a collection of songs? Songs that spoke of our waters and bade you come here? Now?” “Songs? Oh, no we don’t write down songs in books, well actually we do, but this book wasn’t… Well, actually, I suppose it might’ve been…” As Oliver began rambling, the merfolk swam closer to him again, and her frown began to deepen once more. “…I mean, yes! It, well it told us, well it spoke of a…a great many-eyed being. With, umm, great knowledge. It–” Oliver was promptly hoisted up above the water again. This time, thankfully, by his arms and not his throat.