Letter from Altadena

[Celery]

There is a whoosh of wings and then a Tylluan is crouched on the desk, his round yellow eyes turned downward to the envelope tied about its leg. His feathers are coated in a light film of dust, and the paper of the envelope isn't made of papyrus, but rather a thin, pulpy and vegetative substance dried to the consistency of paper. The owl pulls the twine from his leg and leaves the note on the desk before hopping to the window sill and swooping away.

Dear Tyris,



The rains have finally come to the desert! I haven’t seen this much water since the day I left the Keep. It’s like a shy Farir poking its face from the branches of a pine tree- clouds in the sky don’t always mean they take flight. They’re waiting for the right moment to share their cooling rain with us, and in Altadena, I think we are perfectly fine to patiently wait for the sky to water the earth.


I am writing to you from atop the second level of our pueblo, looking south to where the morning light is beginning to poke through yesterday’s rainclouds. In the summer, I find that the most radiant colors aren’t from the constant yellow haze of the sun, but at the dawn and dusk of each day. This far south, the land is flat and is open to each pink and purple glaze or the morning light. It turns our clay walled homes into a wash of orange from its usual dusky beige. I have to get up this early now- I was given the task of caring for Altadena’s Aselis herd. They spend their nights in the canyon near the spring, and each morning I walk down the steep path to bring them up into the village.

Do you remember when you last visited Altadena? It must’ve been the year after you brought me down here to my people. You left an egg with Otana, a Temple Dog! Our village calls him Moki because he is quite fast on the trail. But every morning since he has been able to walk, he has followed me to gather up the Aselis. I see him sitting on the ground level, and sometimes he looks up to see if I’m coming to get our herd, or that I’m just being lazy. But he reminds me of Otana, and Otana has kept mentioning you. I think that is the main reason I am writing back to the Keep.


This season has always been about looking out for each other. The heat is dangerous, and unlike winters, we spend most of our time inside. The pueblo does a great job of keeping the cool of the shadows inside, and we sit and weave, sculpt, create... All of our products will be packed up on the Aselis in the fall and sold in the city markets. I know you are a scientist- an anthropologist to be exact. The reason you came to Altadena was to study the lesser known clans and tribes that live outside the cities like Voltar, far to the south. When I was a young girl and living in the Keep, I remembered the way the magi interacted with their companions. There was always a level of intrigue and scholarly interest to having a Tenebrae Fox hatchling to study. Since coming to Altadena, the only creatures I see are those who make their home in our desert.

We’re on the edge of the desolate Etanian dunes, where we can see the sandy ridges on the horizon of a clear day. But we have compact, cracked earth with wizened sage and acacias planted stoutly in the ground. The summer makes these plants vital to provide shade to the desert creatures. Numbuls from the pine forest gather to eat the lower branches, while the constant hum of Sommniant wings begins as soon as the sun rises. Altadena is situated above the high desert plateaus, where canyons split the earth. It is popular for hardy Ibex and Mountain Yale to graze on tough patches of yellow grasses, scaring Jackalopes out from hiding. The young hatched in the spring are following their families about in the summer- especially the resident Jerboa Rat population. One of my favorite desert residents, these rodents have settled in tunnels under Altadena. These playful creatures run about the adobe rooms, and many of the tribe are more amused than annoyed by their presence. Some of the older members use Puvia brushes to gently scoot the rats away from the seed jars, but our belief is to coexist with all of these creatures. The Aselis and Temple Dog help us, we listen to the whistles of the Aravels to alert strangers, and in the late summer evenings, we follow Ibex tracks to lead us to patches to collect grass. This is the season that I realize the most that us humans aren’t intruders, settlers, or stake claims to this land of essential survival. In the heat, we suffer the same as all these creatures. We learn to exist, and when we learn to do that, then we can live. After all, we require the same needs as the family of Talvers who nested in the pines overlooking the canyon.


The smell of creosote is strong as I walk inside to my room. It is much cooler inside, but the air holds its fragrant, dry feeling as it did outside. The warmth of the sun sets off all sorts of smells in the plants. Sage, pine, none of these plants grow near the Keep. Otana always talks about planning a visit there, but I hope she won’t pick me to go with her. I think the memories would be too strong, and that’s why you are tied with them. I know the death was untimely and I hardly remember it, but the walk north was meant to be ill-fated. The winter that my mother had passed away will always make me associate those cold stone walls with death.


There is much to do, even if the midday heat makes it difficult to venture outside. There are corncakes to bake, beads to carve from bones, clay to turn into slip. Lau is working on a whittling a new walking stick for Otana, who broke her last one when she was out gathering herbs. Perhaps, when you read this, you’ll be tempted to visit again just for Tilinit’s squash stew, because I can smell it now! We are also preparing for when the Feld Bongo come to the plateau. Their arrival signals the end of the summer, as they migrate south for the warm weather. I don’t remember if one of your studying visits were at the beginning of the fall. It’s our time to host the Nononi Festival, where we celebrate the beginning of the new year. Winter and summer are alike in many ways- they can be long and harsh, and deadly. But where there’s death, there’s regrowth. Fall is the start of mild weather, and also the beginning of planting season. If the sound of a party doesn’t sound like a good idea a visit, maybe you’ll send some students to join in the celebrations. You know Otana loves guests!


Sincerly,

Ytla