A titan wave of blue-black cloud rose above the Western Wall like a tidal wave over a sand dune, the roiling mass rising so high that it seemed to become the sky itself.
Beneath it, and some distance to the east, lay the camps of both Lir and Logos. The Lir worked frantically, watching, worrying and wondering.
Working to bring in enough provision that both they and the Logos might weather the coming storm. Worrying that their time was almost up- in all senses of the word.
Wondering just where in God’s Name the Logos were.
The Logos loved to talk almost as much as they loved to think. On this particular day however, A’Co was coming to believe that all they could do was talk in one big circle.
The concept that they, both individually and as a race, were nothing more than children, had come as a major shock to their collective ego. That the Southern Flight had separated and flown south on bad terms was nearly as bad, for one-third of their race- entire clans-