Familiar UnfamiliarityMature

2.2 (cont.)

They opened the door and stepped into a wide and violent abyss.  Each other bounding across the floor, flailing, struggling to reach something, anything, to keep them from falling sideways.  The pressure of the air from the door poured down on them on all sides as they fought for a hold.  The guard caught himself on a strong lampstand, whose appendage had long since broken free and tumbled into the void.  Maron could feel the tug of Dawmas's strong arms against his long coat.  

No sound ushered forth, their own screams slipping into the vortex of nothing.  After a time the chaos sputtered, fought one last time and finally was out.  Maron was first to stand and helped his savior to his feet.  A young lady's cry was now vocalized as the reality of sound a-righted itself.

"We really should be more careful."

"Welcome to Greenward."  Dawmas offered as he passed, to comfort the young lady.

Maron approached where the chaos had seated itself.  The floor was riddled with small grooves, encompassing even smaller circles.  The great span of the hall reminded him of the innards of an exposed metal box he once held for the loadmaster of a successful shipping fleet.  The loadmaster had said it sometimes helped him know what time it was, during particularly long storms.  Maron wondered what use this thing could possibly have.  It had seemed wantonly and mindlessly destructive.

At its center, the enumerator stooped for a closer inspection.  A small disc, with tiny but precise grooves molded in.  The craftsmanship was familiar to Maron. He had seen it everyday.

The End

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