Sometimes words can mean otherwise; caring, care-less.
In a place outside of place and a time outside of time, some things ‘conversed’. Five at times, but here-now, just two.
“Why is it those interesting things have no santh, no boltern, no veld?”
“Brother Autumn, have you not learnt in all their tiny-busy years that they have other things that we know naught about. They talk of love, courage, ugliness, evil. What do we know of these things?”
“Why do we spend time on them? Especially when we have so little understanding.”
“I have no answer. But what I feel of their interest is …..pranzil.”
“As a petal to my wind….that is how I see my people. I have learnt to care for them and to understand some of what they do and say. Their prayers are almost meaningless – but garnty, yes. I see patterns. That is what interests me.”
“Some call us Autumn, Spring, Summer, Winter ……and other words for me. They surely do not know what their veldish labels do to us. Each prayer, each label, each duty, each opportunity.
Ista, Cazaril, dy Lutez and so many others. Each has a claim on the responsibilities I have been, erm, encouraged to take up."
Why do they care? What cares can we understand?
A strong voice interrupted. “They call thinking like this ‘philosophy’. They can spend hours talking with each other about absolutely nothing of importance. Why were they born? What is the purpose of life? What does each of us five gods want? What is ‘good’, what is ‘evil’? Are these opposites? Equal?"
"Perhaps, believing that time is simple and linear confuses them."
"For whatever reason, and even I am not sure how, our lives and duties have become as they are – we have their care as our responsibility. We do some of this because they deliver a measure of santh."
“Ah, the cool calm voice of reason. Be still, Father. Your words confuse and fluster. And well we know the effect on the petty-world when we are out of sorts. Have care. Reset your horit. How will you rest, else."
"Perhaps you take the remarkable Cazaril as your example. Does the silly man never rest. Apart from when he is with his wife and children."
"He toils all day and much of the night. His spare moments are hoping for the music of the Daughter to re-echo in his heart. He is both typical and untypical. Ordinary and beyond extraordinary."