Somewhere above, as if waiting, the loversuns still shone.

Below that⁠ ⁠—⁠ past all the ash, dust and smoke⁠ ⁠—⁠ the two suns’ light became a vague hint, offering the lake’s surface to the shadows.  And they accepted, waving their shadow tongues, swishing their shadow tails, and enveloping.

Trudging over the crumbly shell of this molten glass lake, you’d tire of the lack of light or company in your first breath cycle.  The Berwem was vast and empty; there was only me and⁠ ⁠—⁠ somewhere I couldn’t see⁠ ⁠—⁠ my companion, Hinte.

Without dropping my prize, I hugged my wings a little closer to myself, and pouted.  I had lost her again… but it was the lake’s fault, not mine.

I sighed, my tongue flicking out in starless habit, and, traitor it was, brushing the vomer on the roof of my mouth.  I scented despite myself.

The lake could have smelled worse.  Its ash just tasted… ashy, but its dust tasted like aluminum and copper, with little hints of electrum.  If that were all, well, I think anyone could stand to scent precious metals all evening, if maybe without the mouthful of ash and dust it came with.  Pervading them both, though, was a vog that choked and stung and reeked of smoke and sulfur like a horribly burnt dish of festering eggs.

The image gave me a little giggle.  Maybe some frilly god had prepared the lake Berwem as a little bowl walled in by cliffs, turning up the heat with volcanic vents, adding in some weird crabs and weirder stones, and then sprinkling in so much ash and metal, all as some big joke.

The silliness lifted my thoughts off the vog that slithered down my panting throat, and off the wriggling, constricting shadows.

So I started forward like that, giggling, every step of my four night-blue legs cracking the lake surface.  It opened glowing breaks in the lake’s gray skin, like slit eyes that stared.  I peered back at them.

Writhing under the skin, molten glass split the ground into brittle plates.  Those plates rattled as they ground against each other, and the burning glass underneath hissed as the air vitrified it.  Those rattles and hisses, taken together with the scaly plates and cracked eye slits, only completed the image.

I could imagine the lake as a meal all I wanted, but it would never stop feeling like it had swallowed me instead.

After that thought, I wasn’t laughing; the giggly tongue-clicking stumbled in my throat and turned into a choked cough that bit into me, and⁠ ⁠—⁠ determined to drag up a yelp or a groan with it⁠ ⁠—⁠ stretched and overstayed itself for ten heartbeats, long after I’d gotten tired of it.

Coughing filled the air, and even when it waned it left my breaths wheezing.  Its only accompaniment was the lake’s dim rumbling.  The sound⁠ ⁠—⁠ the emptiness of it⁠ ⁠—⁠ stilled me.  Fangs wet, I looked left and right, forward and backward, listlessly up and then finally down at my scaled blue feet.

I’d lost Hinte again, and now I was alone in the lake.

It wasn’t my fault.  I’d tasted an opportunity scuttling along unawares and leapt for it.  But we shouldn’t have lost each other so quickly.

Last time⁠ ⁠—⁠ every other time⁠ ⁠—⁠ she’d only gone as far as the edge of my sight, and it was a matter of leaping over to her.  Now, I couldn’t see or hear her⁠ ⁠—⁠ I could smell her, but that was awash in everything else, nothing but a tinge.  Hinte had been more than enveloped, she’d been swallowed, just like me.

My fangs dewed with a little bit more… saliva.  It wasn’t sour, and it was only a few drops.  They dripped onto my muzzle and slid and fell to the ground by my black-covered feet.  I looked up.

It’d be a bit easier to forgive the friend-swallowing shadows if they hadn’t come from this stinking, sulfuric, vog-stuffed air, or if they were at least thin enough to see farther than six strides ahead in.

I was glaring at the shadows now, but stopped myself with a cringe.  Hinte would see me before I saw her.  Would she catch me glaring and think I hated sifting?  I couldn’t seem unappreciative.

From behind, a smell of boiled meat reached me, reminded me, and I squeezed the glasscrab held between my night-blue wings⁠ ⁠—⁠ my prize.  The dead gray form swung over my back, then bounced and fell into a bag opposite my lunch.  I had gained something from getting lost, at least.

Glasscrabs.  They were some weird lake creature said to have alchemical blood⁠ ⁠—⁠ disease-purifying alchemical blood.  And I would know, with how many long rings I’d lost poring over old, smelly scrolls about them, expecting Hinte to be impressed.

What the scrolls hadn’t mentioned was how flighty and stinky they were.  Or how silly… though maybe that was just the one I’d found.  Dumbly, it had scuttled right by me and Hinte as if we didn’t exist.  So I’d pounced on it.  A long-sought alchemy ingredient walking right past?  A chance to do something besides walk and ask unanswered questions?  It should have been worth it.  Instead, I’d lost Hinte again.

All four of my feet were digging into the ground, biting into it, as if the clinging would keep me from sliding swallowed down into the lake’s fiery maw⁠ ⁠—⁠ even though they would crack it open instead.  Breathe, Kinri.  The breath came clearly, but that was easier than relaxing my feet.

Confused, I breathed again, and the breath came just as clearly, as though the coughs had crawled further down my throat, into my breast, where they were just a faint wheezing.  Maybe they’d rush back out any moment⁠ ⁠—⁠ but for now?  They were gone.

I didn’t smile, but I spat out some dust.  It left as a wet and cloudy spray, turning my mouth into a little volcano.  I did it a few more times, making a little swirl in the air around me.  You had heard of the legendary heroes that could breathe fire, but I could breathe dust.  Tremble before me!

At that, I did smile a little.  I didn’t dare laugh again, though.  But I smiled.  Because you had to stare at the silly side of things, keep everything positive.  If I stopped, then the dewing would start.

Suddenly, a crack beneath me!  I jumped.  Dustone was shattering in my feet, and a storm of glowing cracks was ripping around me.  I didn’t like how the ground was sinking.

I hadn’t been walking.  I’d stilled on the spot, alone, swallowed up just like my companion, and laughing and coughing in that aloneness.

I breathed again, through my mouth, letting my tongue focus on just that haughty electrum smell.  Releasing the shattered dustone in my feet, I stepped forward.  Hinte hadn’t been swallowed by the vog and I wouldn’t be either.  I just needed to find her.  She knew the Berwem like a favorite scroll.

Below, furious molten glass burned beneath a façade of hardened dust and glaze.  The heat of the lake’s blood rose and animated the air, driving it upward.  I found it curious, as that same heat wore me down, draining my energy with every step I took toward… with every aimless step forward.  No sign of Hinte.

As the lake clouds rose, they became a gray-black ceiling above me.  Looking up at that blackness, sunslight still filtered down in vague blotches, keeping their promise to the coiling shadows of the lake.  At the sight, the white-speckled frills on either side of my neck folded and sagged; I missed the suns.

My scaled feet, still slick with a black slime, scraped the ground as I walked on, leaving short lines above my footprints.  More dust worked into my nails and between my toes.  Despite the slime, I felt all of it.

I’d resigned myself to the sensation, but it still needled me.  And there was nothing to distract from it.  Every single step forward pressed more and more dust and glass bits into my soles!  I shuddered.  If only I could shed on command, and just my forelegs…

Maybe walking with bare forefeet wasn’t the absolute worst part of sifting, but the feeling crawled over me, always worming its way into my awareness.  A pair of sandals, at least, spared my hindfeet.

Breathing, I wrenched my focus to other things.  Like the drifting smell of my lunch, caught by an idle flick of my tongue.  So faint, yet I savored the briny, acrid aroma of trout charred almost black⁠ ⁠—⁠ my favorite.  Saliva moistened my mouth, and the smell twisted the waxing hunger in my belly into a mean knot.

I hadn’t eaten today, and the toil of sifting hatched an appetite I might go days before working up otherwise.  My first canteen had already emptied itself, and we still hadn’t taken a break.  And now, I could take one, and I needed to find Hinte instead.

“Hinte!” I called, as loud as I could, loud enough I felt a burning return to my throat.

She hadn’t wanted to bring me with her to the lake at all.  But, after all my incessant prodding and pleading⁠ ⁠—⁠ which went nowhere⁠ ⁠—⁠ and after her rejections saying I would only slow her down or I would injure myself, I still kept asking to join her.  I didn’t have anyone else.

“Hinte!” I called, lower, rubbing my throat with a wing.

After that, the cycles had danced by, and the moons had wound in their paths; in a word, the gray season approached, promising ash clouds and vog.  I faltered then.  The gray season would have definitely grounded her trips into the cliffs, and grounded any chance of mine to learn what she did there.

“Hinte?”  My voice was barely above conversational, and that was the best I could do, now.

But the weather had done neither, because then she relented all asudden, leaving me slack-tongued and wondering what changed.  “Two days,” was what she told me, “and I will not wait.”  With two days to prepare, I brought along a lunch, some light-shielding goggles and my excitement, some thrill of adventure.

“Hinte,” I said, and it could have been called a whisper.

Now, after an evening spent in this stinking lake, I only had the lunch.

I opened my mouth to call again, and my voice didn’t cooperate.  Instead, a cough.  I tried covering my mouth, I tried breathing slower, I tried drinking more water from my limited supply.  They all helped some, but my throat still hurt.

Now silent and slowing to a stop, I spread my wings and waved them around, bouncing a little and looking even sillier than it sounded.  The ground buckled and cracked beneath me, but I prayed the stars it would hold…  I was only bouncing a little bit.  After a while of this, it was embarrassment and not tiredness that stopped me.

I was walking forward again with a sigh that sounded more like a growl.  As I marched, on, I took pants, breathed calm, and tried focusing on other things.  Like the little cracks that followed me everywhere.  The ground was flexing and cracking all over, more than it had before I’d hopped around.  I stopped again, frowning.

Then molten glass spurted up!  Huge waves of heat struck me!  My legs tensed, and my wings bristled.  At that sudden flash of molten glass my scaly frills snapped open and covered my eyes.  I still saw burning afterimages, but without my goggles there was nothing to be done.

The spurts caught me surprised every time, though they’d never touched me; but the heat waves exploding from the cracks singed my face.  I hissed, and brought a wing to my head.  That only made it worse, and I flinched back.

Only the top of my head was unsinged, as it was covered by a black headband.  It always was.

The searing light waned, receding into a distant crack, and I moved my frills from my eyes and cleared my eyescales.  Draw breaths, Kinri.  Don’t think about the crawling pain on your face, focus on something else.

And I did.  Even though it burned in more afterimages, I stared at the crack where the glass had spurted up.  A new hole had been ripped open in the lake skin, and it wasn’t my fault, at all⁠ ⁠—⁠ that would be silly.

As I watched, the lake skin was healing itself, erasing the crack.  When the molten glass met the air, it had cooled and vitrified, and the crack sealed.  But dust⁠ ⁠—⁠ both floating in the air and piled on the ground⁠ ⁠—⁠ had fallen in, caked on, sintering with the cooling glaze as it hardened, creating brittle dustone instead of glass.

Here the Berwem healed itself; but it didn’t always.  In places, the dustone skin would break naturally and stay that way, maintaining a kind of portal into the lake’s chaos and heat.  Where these little spurts would only singe my scales, the breaks would burn, even from strides away.  Hinte and I could avoid them⁠ ⁠—⁠ we did⁠ ⁠—⁠ but I only learned that afterHinte snatched me from the path to one.  I hadn’t known about them then, and Hinte hadn’t told me anything.

I was learning now, of course.  Before today, I hadn’t known all that much about the lake that had put my new home on the maps.  And I admit, learning about the lake might have been fascinating, if it didn’t stink; if it wasn’t so hot; if the air wasn’t so dark and spooky; if the ground wasn’t the worst of lousy desert sand and ice-covered water combined; if, honestly, if I just wasn’t here.

Maybe Hinte had been right to not want me joining her.

For all I missed having Hinte around, it didn’t really change that much.  You were still sifting, in spirit: trudge warily over a flimsy skin; pray the stars it doesn’t smash open beneath you; bear the heat, and dryness, and dust; drink your water, but not too quickly; get used to the rumbling quiet, because Hinte definitely wasn’t going to make any talk.

And you know what?  “I hate sifting.”  My lips had already moved before I’d startled and covered them.

A jagged voice then came from the shadows.  “Kinri?” it called

It stopped me between steps, and I seemed to burst, my legs punching me up, my wings spreading.  I might have squeaked.  But the voice sounded like Hinte, fearless Hinte, determined Hinte.  So I hadn’t squeaked at all⁠ ⁠—⁠ I wouldn’t squeak with her watching.  She’d brought me with her for a reason, and that reason couldn’t have been making pathetic sounds when she called my name.  Even if it were completely out of nowhere, with no warning at all.

“Kinri?” she called again, from somewhere unseen.  When she said it, my name sounded different; the stops came out a little harder, and the vowels came out a little higher.  It made me pause before calling out⁠ ⁠—⁠ would she hear a garbled transmutation of her own name?  The thought stopped me only for a second.

“Hinte!” I said, a smile lighting on my face and a coughing giggle crawling from my mouth.  “I found you!”  I was spreading my wings and waving them around again while I waited.

Down on the surface, where no one spoke my native Käärmkieli, I’d met with all manner of mispronunciations of my name.  And, while the differences shone out, they didn’t needle me like other things did.  It sounded like a new name, and the new name was exotic, the name of someone related to but distinct from who I had been.  And that smiled me every time I heard it.

Maybe Hinte didn’t share that experience; she still had her native-speaking grandparents.  And I’d been learning foreign tongues⁠ ⁠—⁠ including hers⁠ ⁠—⁠ almost as soon as I could speak.

Lost in my thoughts, I jumped when a shadow glided beside me, and landed with a dusty crack.  After a few beats the shadow resolved to a bright-white figure stalking forward.  Hinte.  I could hug her⁠ ⁠—⁠ she wouldn’t let me, but I could.  I wanted to.

The dark-scaled alchemist clutched something between her wing’s opposable alula and its membraned pinion, and it gave her strides purpose, and that was definitely what held me back.

You couldn’t make out whatever it was, but it brought along that same scent of glaze and metal, with the same hint of half-boiled meat, like a creature slow-cooked all its life.  When she threw it toward me and eyestalks were whirling in the air, I knew it must be another glasscrab.

I reached to catch it⁠ ⁠—⁠ and the crab smacked against my foreleg.  It fell on the dustone with another crack.  I flinched, and wrinkled my frills: Would it have been so hard to just pass it to me?  Smile gone, I snapped my tongue and aimed a glare at Hinte.

After barely stopping to sheath a knife that glinted a bright-green, Hinte was already stepping away.  Like usual.

Scowling, I snatched up the crab, then waved my tongue as I peered at it, thinking how I’d never expected a glasscrab to grow this big.

The crab had grown half as long as my foreleg, and its hard sooty flesh clung taut to a curling frame, with a half-shattered glass carapace colored murky-yellow and bulging along its tapered length.  Taken all together, it looked a lost shard of the lake skin, ripped away and brought to life.

A deep hole pierced right in the middle of the crescent-shaped head: the spot where Hinte’s knife had grounded it.  The flesh inside the wound wasn’t bloody.  It was dry and seemed tinted vaguely green.

Below the head, spindly limbs still writhed, twitching and contracting, until they faltered still.  Horned eyestalks crawled out from the head, and pupils wavered with a sickly blue light just like the glowing stones we came to sift.  Eyestalks stopped moving last of all, and glowing eyes faded in three heartbeats.

I shoved the crab into the bag at my side⁠ ⁠—⁠ but it caught on the hem and teetered out.  Another crack of crab on dustone came and Hinte paused in her stride.  My fangs burned.  Before I dared glance at the bright-white figure again, the crab had flown in the air and been knocked clacking into my bag.

When I looked over Hinte was striding on as though nothing had happened.  And it hadn’t.  I’d sat the crab in my bag without issue.  I didn’t drop it.  I wasn’t that useless.

The crab, parts hanging floppingly over the hem, might have disagreed.  I pushed again, with a wing, forcing it in.  But it was too big, its legs still flopping out and its horned eyestalks staring accusations at me.  I sighed.  At least they stopped glowing.

In my bag, that glasscrab joined the first and smaller crab in lifeless flopping, both well away⁠ ⁠—⁠ a whole me away⁠ ⁠—⁠ from my delectable lunch, a charred trout sitting alone, wiggling in the empty space of the bag slung over my other side.

My gaze moved forward, finding the bright-white figure stalking forward alone, not looking back.  Maybe Hinte had been so reluctant to bring me here because I wasn’t worthy, in her estimation.  But I would bleed these crabs, brew her the purification mixture as a gift, and it would prove I could be an alchemist just like her.  She would finally tell me why she came to the lake.