Borealis Nineteen - Bad Dog, No Biscuit

     A small burst of sand popped into view behind a nearby sand dune, raining and mixing granules of yellow and beige over and beyond the summit of the guilty desert bulge that covered the explosion's origin. Howl darted behind an empty platform of concrete that sheltered itself beneath a semi-transparent red tarp. He peeked over. Saw nothing. But heard the sound of shifting sand and scooping hands. Five minutes passed, and the sound stopped. Footsteps, boots digging into sand, climbing, replaced the previous sound. Howl waited. The footsteps stopped. Still no sight of the noise maker, the sand blower. Howl crept backward into an alleyway that stretched out behind him, using the shadows it cast as cover. A few seconds passed.
     Suddenly, a black figure, pitch in the desert sun, its shape bulbous and clothes dilapidated, mounted the crest of the dune and dusted itself off. It was a man, and he wore a mask. He would have been spectacular in sight for no one had Howl not been there to see him.
     "Garnet," Howl whispered, sliding deeper into the shadows. "I knew it was you, you filthy Bird."
     Garnet rubbed the lenses of his goggles for a while and then continued his march across the large dune. Toward the bottom, he finally settled down into a trot and began to make his way toward the city's first buildings. Howl glared at the masked man. What was he up to? The boy's mouth began to twitch as he glared. The Grounder Bird slowed his pace even more. Howl bit his lip. Garnet stopped. The Bird was only a few yards away from the young Dog, but the Bird was looking at a different alleyway.
     Silent and slow, a small pocket of air left the world and disappeared into Howl's lungs. It stayed there for a while. Everything was still. Garnet turned and looked right at the boy.
     "Oh! Hello, Killer," the Bird said happily. "The goggles in my mask brighten up dark places for me, you know."
     The boy exhaled violently. He wasn't used to being spotted.
     Garnet tilted his head slightly. "Goodbye for now." A roar of thunder crackled from the Bird. The space around him went black. And he, with the black, vanished.
     Half an hour passed before Howl moved again. During that time he listened for the Bird, sure that the man would reappear somewhere in the city... But he never did. No snap. No thunder. No pop. Garnet was gone. Howl cursed and made a dash for the sand dune, conscious that at any moment Garnet could reappear and thus prevent him from reaching whatever secret rest at the foot of the desert.
     Clouds drew closer as Howl ran up the face of the dune, and the desert threatened to swallow the boy whole as he slid down the other side. Sand went everywhere, strewn about in Howl's haste, erasing most of the tracks and traces Garnet had left behind. Howl didn't care. He just started digging as soon as he stopped sliding. And, after many furious scoops and much more cursing, the boy found something.
     Garnet stepped out from beneath the shadows that had hidden Howl earlier. "Silly boy," he chuckled to himself. "And you thought you weren't supposed to find that."

Borealis Three - Neo Crow

     Silence. The deafening sound that permeates the morningscape of each and every day in Borealis. It pricks the ears of the Unfortunate Ones, whispering, "The Sun has gone up to sleep in the sky, and the Moon has gone down to work in the earth below. What say you to a day of jamboree?" And each of the four walks of the city arise from their slumber to honor the silence, noting the absence of the nighttime factories' hum by saying nothing. Orange, meanwhile, bathes everyone and everything, the Sun's light the true instigator of consciousness.
     A Grounder Bird cries out from Balderdash Alley, sharing the good news that silence needn't hold the morning captive any longer. "Pray," he says. "Pray for the jubilant jamboree!" On the next level up, the stomps of the Riser Dogs clang out and echo, ensuring that no other soul dare lie in dreams, lest they suffer the bite of a Riser Dog wrangle. And, from all corners of the city, Sun Cats sing at the shadows cast from the sunrise's ascent. Their song proclaiming the city's approaching warmth:

"O, Shadows shallow on your fallowed gallows,

travel o'er the graveled graces, sing to me your addled places.

Leave me from, the eaves they come, death to all, to all the dumb!"

     Quickly, the Roof Rats scurry to their hiding places. Their squeaks of fear drawing the routine of Borealis' dawn to a close. Pure daylight then covers the city in warmth, the warmth warned of by the Sun Cats' song. For sunlight often calls out to those who wish to cause harm. No soul is safe out from under the shadows' blanket.
     It would not be a good day for Aurora, in that case. Too much champagne had gone into her system the night before. So, she lay there, that day, asleep as the shadows retreated from her body. Had she any luck, the stomps of the approaching Riser Dogs would rouse her in time enough.