Dear wasn't kidding about the smells. Ioan turned eir sensorium's sensitivity way up. Ey wondered if Dear's vulpine nose could smell things eirs could not.
Serene had worked wonders here. The smells, the textures, the raw beauty of the place, all well crafted. It was a fine line that she had walked, too. Too far in one direction and the landscape would have become nearly desolate, more foreboding than natural. Any further in the other, and it would've been softened too much, would've become too well-tended. Cartoonish.
As the two crunched their way through the short, stiff stalks of grass, winding their way around the larger tussocks, Ioan realized that ey was quite taken with the place.
A ridiculous house in the middle of nowhere, a glittering white fox and its partner, the prairie fading off into downs on one side and stretching out to infinity on the other. It had all seemed so contrived when ey had first visited. Too simple. Too one dimensional. Kind of tacky.
But it was all just *so well done*. So incredibly, skillfully executed. The artistry was in the details, and the details were fractal, continuing down through ever finer layers. The landscape's perfection was echoed in Dear's unique sensibilities and its comfortable relationship.
*"Other than that, yes, but almost certainly connected, probably the same person. I think they're the same, at least. Not much more than the name, though. No location, no sightings in ages. Some aging --- or agéd --- resources. A name and some history."*
Ioan gave an impatient gesture with eir hand. "Well, what's the hold-up?"
Dear's grin widened. *"The hold-up is that I want you to feel some of the excitement that I felt on hearing this from down-tree. I want you excited and invested."*
"I've been working twenty hour days on this, I'm pretty fucking invested."
"And the name is?" Ioan's mind raced. Could Dear even say the name? Was it the poet, miraculously talking through years to the system? That would be exciting.
Ioan stuffed eir hands in eir pockets. Brought them back out to press against eir forehead. Crossed eir arms. Returned eir hands to eir pockets. Suddenly anxious. "I thought you said that Qoheleth couldn't be from within the clade."
Ioan rifled through eir mental notes on the project. "Signifier...from the first encrypted note? Signifier is the password something something?"
Dear nodded. *"Hardly anyone uses it anymore, but signifier used to be what we called the names of long-lived branches. It's still used here and there among older clades."*
*"They are an Odist, yes. Way, way down-tree. One of the first instances."* Dear's smile faltered, *"We were not very good at record keeping back then. We are not really now, to be honest, but the system is better. We...we did not know that he was still alive."*
*"Remember, all of our names are chosen from our stanza. I talk with the other nine within my stanza every now and then --- some more than others --- and we filled out the stanza not long ago."* The fox's expression grew glassy. *"Life Breeds Life...that is the second stanza, first line. They are a conservative bunch. I only know one or two, but I assume that others are out there. And yes, 'he'. Michelle was a woman, but those early days were heady."*
*"The first line from each stanza were the first forked, back when it cost to fork. Like, cost real reputation. Anyway, the first fork of the second stanza --- second fork overall --- must have just been a little more conservative than the rest of us. Or liberal. It is difficult to discern."*
The historian stood, quiet and still, and watched as the fox took a few steps deeper into the prairie, crossed its arms and stood straight, staring up into the bruised sky. *"To the second bit, I do not know that it matters. They --- Life, or Qoheleth, or whatever --- are one of us. And even those of us who did not want any outsiders brought on board are only frowning, looking down their noses at the thought, not gathering up arms."*
Ioan scuffed eir foot against the grass. The temperature was dropping out on the prairie. It would be an inconvenience to have to slosh back to the house if it rained.
*"I think that he would probably get a kick out of it. I know that am. Several of the others are, and the ones who are not just do not care that much or are perhaps more angry than curious."* Dear turned back around. Its arms were held tight against it's front, guarding. Whether from cold or emotion, Ioan couldn't tell. *"As for what I feel, I feel that it is his game. He is the one running it. But even if it is a game, it is not play. There is no real fun in it, just...snark. Anger. Pride, maybe. It is a game he has worked at perfecting, and he wants us to see that."*
Ioan and Dear trudged back to the low block of concrete, a bunker against the storm, as a chill wind swept away the petrichor and brought with it the rain.
