The Roots That Chain Us

Part 2/2

    I’m alone in Siffa’s office, my cleaning hurried and sloppy.

    The Vel’ett I stole has long since died, it no longer emits light. Its roots are dry and still.

    But here, on the table before me, stands a fresh one. Recently plucked from the hive-stacks along the wall, it pulses with fierce color.

The Roots That Chain Us

Part 1/2

    I run as fast as I can, my calloused paws scraping the rough, porous ground. It is noon and the Sun has shifted from white to sharp blue, scorching my skin. But the Master will not wait. He is kind, as far as Masters go, but he will whip me if I shame him.