“Step forward, Mej'Hock. There's no need to make me guess. Tell me what broken thing you hold in your hand.”
Mej’Hock is of the golden brood, and his scales are a dull copper that shows his disappointment and anxiety.
“The hall devoted to the history of your crimson brood was too crowded with artifacts, Un'Yhe,” begins my gold archivist. “One of the strangers bumped into the display shelving as his cylinder rolled through the chamber. The crystal figurines of the crimson hatchery mothers fell and were broken.”
I sigh and cannot prevent a little of the red from fading from my scales. The crimson chamber is my favorite room in the museum, holding the artifacts most precious to my brood. The great, crimson artist Heldrick crafted the figurines of the hatching mothers before the time of Terleck, and even the prophet was said to cherish the artist's figurines. Mej'Hock slowly opens his hands and shows me the fragments – shards of disconnected talons and tails, pieces of legs, decapitated heads. Still, a few figurines, though scuffed and sometimes cracked, remain intact. Much can be salvaged, though the original splendor of so many of those figurines will be lost.
“Leave the fragments with me,” I speak. “I'll see the figurines receive priority for repair. Thank you for promptly calling it to my attention.”
“Do you know if the strangers come any closer to finding what they need?”
Mej'Hock cherishes the artifacts of his world as much as any other archivist. The damage the museum has suffered as the strangers' cylinders roll through the halls dampers his spirits and saps the color of his scales.
“I have not heard if the strangers have come any closer,” I reply. “The strangers do all they can to avoid damaging the museum. It is not easy for them to move through the halls. We have been fortunate that we have not lost more, and the strangers would not risk harming our rooms if they did not feel it was worthwhile.”
“Of course, Un'Yhe.” Mej'Hock bows and retreats from my stone table.
The figurines in my hand are far from the first items broken since the strangers and their cylinders rolled out of their double doors, but I do not regret a moment of their reemergence.
My archivists, curators and librarians have welcomed the opportunity to learn more of the strangers as they directly encounter them in the halls. Friendships have been forged. I have listened to the stories shared between the broods and the strangers as, together, they regard some artifact gathered in the halls. Such makes me proud. Such sharing is the museum's purpose.
And the sight of the strangers shimmering in their fluids as their cylinders roll atop the tracks winding through the halls is splendid. Walking next to those cylinders, the strangers have often paused before some relic I had forgotten. The strangers so often pause to regard a relic I took for granted, and so I see the item in a new manner. I answer their questions. I follow their curiosity, and Frelurn becomes a new world to me.
The strangers still transform the commonplace into the wonderful. The cost of a few crystal figurines does not thus feel like such a loss.
I am arranging the figurine pieces atop my stone table, fitting together what shards might be mended, when Seh'Ulk approaches my station.
“Do the temperature fluctuations continue to expand, Seh'Ulk?” I have anticipated the doctor's arrival all morning and am anxious to hear his thoughts.
Seh'Ulk nods. “The core temperatures of the strangers continue to rise.”
“Do the strangers express any hurt?” I ask. “Do they tell us anything more about how they weaken?”
“They say nothing about their health,” Seh'Ulk answers. “Whatever discomfort they might feel they keep to themselves.”
“Perhaps this rise in temperature is a natural part of their cycle?”
Seh'Ulk softly shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I do not think I've been the only one of the broods to notice how the strangers move a little more slowly. You must have noticed how the strangers appear a little more weary, how their pulsating light circulates more slowly with each day.”
“Their shimmer is fading.” I sigh.
Seh'Ulk looks down upon my stone table and peers at the broken figurines. “I too notice how their glow holds so little of that early luminosity that first enthralled the broods. I remember when their simple presence in a chamber would light up the displays.”
I can feel the pressure worry builds in my scales. “The strangers now ask my archivists to bring electric lanterns with them as they sift together through the museum searching for the items the strangers need. One of the strangers bumped into a display again today. These crystal figurines of my brood mothers fell and broke. The strangers no longer move within their cylinders with their old grace.”
Seh'Ulk takes up several of the figurine pieces, and I am impressed with how quickly he has found the matching pieces from those shards on my table. “A hard loss, Un'Yhe. But I do not believe the strangers would ever have entered the chamber if they did not think their purpose demanded it.”
“I told Mej'Hock as much,” I nod. “Find whatever reason you can to observe the strangers, Seh'Ulk. I value your wisdom.”
“Should I gather more data?”
I shake my head. “Let the strangers tell us what data we need to sample. I hate to consider them like artifacts in our museum. They are so much more. Nor do I want them to know just yet how much we worry. Let the strangers focus on their search. But keep an eye on them, Seh'Ulk. They have always been such fragile creatures.”
Seh'Ulk bows and departs. I am fortunate to call him friend.
I can only wait while the strangers look through my museum's halls. Only the strangers can recognize what artifacts might play a part in their plans. I can do little else but turn my attention back to the fragmented figurines on my table and wonder how much is irretrievably broken.