Windsong: The reserves of runium running dry, the appearance of new critters, the sudden snowstorm.
Windsong: I've connected the ley lines of each of these phenomena. The map is nearly complete!
She unfolds the complex blueprint filled with various lines and marks.
Windsong: But still haven't traced many lines and marks back to their source.
Windsong: Perhaps if I go back to the factories, into the restricted zones ... But, I can't do that alone.
Windsong: Definitely not when the situation in town is so unstable.
Windsong collapses onto the table. An avalanche follows, covering her in layers of books and manuscripts.
The piles around her loom like a mountain range, casting her in shadow.
Windsong: Well, I should have given this up long ago. There's no chance that the study of ley lines will ever be accepted again.
Phantom voices of past mockery and scorn rise up to her ears.
"Reviewer": Regretfully, Ms. Windsong, with nothing but these outdated files and materials to back you up, there's simply no way to justify reinstating the study of ley lines into our curriculum.
"Reviewer": We don't have unlimited funds, and we must save our money for projects with greater potential. The study of ley lines is ...
"Reviewer": Of course, we might be able to consider new ideas and projects. You can't be allowed to do this on your own.
"Reviewer": You will need endorsements from the Institution of Geographic Studies, the Arcane Creature Society, or other such organizations.
"Reviewer": Let me think. Zeno seems to be interested in geographers recently. They've just recruited a number of researchers for a new commission. Maybe you should go try your luck with them.
An echo of a nursery rhyme rings out from beyond her self-made mountain range.
But she is all but oblivious to it.
Windsong: The submission date is getting closer each day, but I've made poor progress. Zeno won't endorse me if I can't find a breakthrough.
Windsong: They have become more and more radical and desperate lately. First, they sent those researchers here to conduct their haphazard studies, and now, an armed force.
Windsong: And all this effort just to chase the rumor of some source of "perpetual energy"?
Windsong: "That this perpetual energy source must be hidden somewhere beneath the permafrost!"
Windsong: The higher-ups call the shots. All they need to do is spread a little honey in the right places. Then all the little researchers will swarm on it like flies.
Windsong: But could there really be a magical power source like that?
Windsong: Whether there is or not, I still have a map to finish. There's no way that I can map every ley line in the region all by myself.
Windsong: ...
Windsong: Goodbye research funds, goodbye lectures and seminars, and so long to my dreams of being chair of the "Geographical Perspectives" forum.
She jostles the heaps of books, moving them just enough to let in some light and sound.
They seep in through the cracks like starlight.
???: Took-took!
Windsong: ...!
The door snaps shut. Windsong stands against it nervously.
Instruments roll off the table, colliding with each other on the windowsill, the corners, and under the bed, falling in a cacophonous disarray.
Windsong: What was that?
The door is gently pushed open again, revealing the curious face of a sunflower peeking in through the crack.
Avgust: Ms. Windsong, we've been waiting for you!
As far as medals go, the design is a little cruder than expected, and damp paper doesn't quite have the same gravitas as gold or silver.
Still, Windsong has fantasized countless times about receiving such an accolade for her work, even a paper one.
Windsong: ...!
Nina: Ms. Windsong, we prepared a special medal ceremony for you and Avgust!
Pasono: Please come to our ceremony!
Pyotr: ...
Pyotr: We just wanted to thank you for teaching us.
Pyotr: Ms. Vila was right. We shouldn't have been so quick to argue. We should have listened!
Nina: So you should be given an award for being right!
Nina: But our ceremony will not be as big as the ones on TV.
Indeed, this is a very special and exclusive reward.
Simple as it is, it comes with something nothing else could: the innocence and laughter of children.
Pyotr: Ms. Windsong, will you accept this medal?
For the first time in a long while, the study of ley lines basks in the glow of scholarly acclaim.
The paper medal is cupped in her trembling hands.
Windsong: ...
Windsong: I have no cup to put this medal in, so we can't toast with it in celebration.
She sniffles.
Windsong: But now I know, no matter what, I won't be returning empty-handed. Thank you, kids.
Nina: Do you mean, are you leaving us?
Pasono: But there is so much you still need to teach us!
Pyotr: "Rayashki embraces every guest," including you, Ms. Windsong—don't you like it here?
The children are on the verge of tears. She is pulled in helplessly, too.
Windsong: But those things I heard at the welcome ceremony ... Won't we all be leaving soon?
Avgust: No! I don't believe it. That stranger was mean; he wasn't our friend!
Pyotr: Hmph. This is our town; they can't speak for us.
Nina: That's right!
Neither doubt nor sorrow will dim their eyes—before her lies only a sea of steadfast faces.
Their words encouraging and powerful despite their youth.
They plant some strange seed of hope within her.
Pyotr: Ms. Vila "invited" the man from Zeno to leave his ship. Then they went into Mr. Evgeni's meeting room together.
Nina: Uncle Knut promised me that no one will give up this place.
Nina: They will go to many meetings and find "a solution that satisfies both sides."
Avgust: The tortoises move slowly. They need to keep their eyes opened and look for a better answer!
Nina: So will you stay and teach us?
Pyotr: I won't cause you any more trouble, I promise!
The children burst into laughter.
Their voices very nearly drown out the rustling noises coming from the windowsill.
Avgust: Mm? Comrade Calculator is speaking!
Curiosity propels the child through the half-open door of the guest room.
Avgust: Hello!
"Ley Calibrator": ...
Avgust: Comrade Calculator, are you giving the earthworms directions?
The clamor by the window crescendos.
Even on tiptoes, the child barely reaches the faintly glowing calibrator.
Unfortunately, he is not the only one reaching for it.
???: roars
More unfortunate still, scaly claws prove mightier than little fingers.
"Ley Calibrator": cracks
The other children notice the tug-of-war and crowd around Windsong, squeezing into the increasingly cramped room.
Windsong: What's going on here? Ah, my calibrator!
???: chews
Windsong: The whale-like backbone, the diamond-shaped teeth, two short legs, with dim eyes, and an extremely sharp nose. That must be a Kikituk!
Kikituk: gasps
Windsong: But their closest habitat should be Kong Karls Land, hundreds of kilometers away.
Its snout fixates on the new treat in Windsong's grasp.
She pulls out the scanner, its gears whining as ley lines flood forth.
Windsong: Their marks on the map appear to be red, sort of reddish brown, and there's a large amount of ley energy accumulated around them. Clearly, they're high on the food chain.
Windsong: Seems like the "small fish" have attracted more than one "big fish."
With a swift kick, she sends the grinning critter tumbling.
Windsong: Kids, get behind me!
COMBAT
The undeterred Kikituks close in on the narrow ledge.
Kikituk: hissing
Avgust: Oh, oh! The Kikituks are giving a performance!
Avgust: Their nose sings, their fur dances, and their belly shakes.
Avgust: Mm?
Avgust: But why aren't their ears doing anything?
Windsong: Avgust! What are you doing there? Stay back; those are not Qiqirn!
Avgust: But, but ...
The meaning of both their messages is lost in the confusion.
Avgust: But, but their ears are left behind. They-they can't join the dance.
Avgust: Then they will not get their Alenka!
Windsong: Ears?
Windsong, struck by her sudden revelation, fixes on the Kikituk's head.
Beneath its tufts of plush fur lie well-hidden ears of a deeper color.
Windsong: Природа это числа и черты.
After a brief incantation, lines converge in a beam that hits precisely on its ear.
Kikituk: wails
The creature's cry pierces the air.
Windsong: So that seems to be their weak spot.
Windsong: Good job, little one. You're even more perceptive than I thought!
Windsong pats Avgust's head.
Windsong: Next ...
She reveals a dark and dangerous smile.
Windsong: Hmph.
The Kikituks finally relinquish their ill-gotten gains, leaping down and away from the windowsill.
Leaving behind gnawed wet fragments of the ley calibrator.
Windsong: S**t! This was one of the last working instruments I had.
A sunflower gently pats against Windsong's shoulder.
Avgust: Don't be sad, Ms. Windsong.
Avgust: If we plant them in the soil, many more will come out when spring comes.
Windsong: Heh. Thank you, Avgust.
Pyotr: Ms. Windsong, can I be a ley hunter too?
Nina: If we were as good as you are, maybe we could've protected your machine.
Pyotr: And maybe we could protect our town.
Windsong turns her head, meeting many pairs of expectant eyes.
Windsong: Kids, ley hunting isn't a good profession.
Windsong: If you become a ley hunter, you will have to deal with doubt from all your peers, even hatred, and homework that piles up to your roof.
Nina: Ms. Windsong, people in Rayashki are taught not to doubt or hate others. They would never hate you, or us!
Pyotr: Exactly!
The children of Rayashki are in some ways so strange to her.
Their courage and solidarity overcome her long-standing hesitation.
Windsong: ...
Her curiosity at them, at all of this, becomes a palpable force.
One pulling her ever closer to Rayashki.