The Soundstrider stood in the middle of the room like a hoofed accusation. He turned on his axis, hooves tapping across the floor, and snapped his lid twice—loudly.
“No,” Verdana said, tired. “Not now.”
He stepped closer. Another turn. Another tap. Another snap of the lid. Another silence.
“I said not now,” she repeated, sharper this time.
Her aura lit up—moss‑green light, damp and irritated. The Soundstrider froze, shut the slightly open lid of his acoustic chamber, and trotted off as if he’d decided Verdana was far too noisy today.
“Perfect,” she growled. “Just what I needed. You have no reason to be offended. I’m the one who’s offended here.”
She sat down and stared out the window into the forest. Peace did not come. She kept lamenting—not dramatically, not tragically, but in that particular way people lament when they’re right and no one listens.
“I told her. If she’d just come normally. If she’d knocked. If she’d asked. If she’d simply said: Verdana, I need the ring.”
“But no. She breaks in. Into my house. Into my quiet. Into my chest. And she thinks the runes won’t recognize her aura. Seyra Lux Shademist. Sure. As if mist couldn’t read light.”
The ring under the lid vibrated softly. Outside, the Soundstrider tapped his hooves, as if searching for a sound worth stealing.
Verdana stood. Stepped outside. Spoke to the air—because sometimes the air listens better than people.
“I’m not stupid. I understand the rhythms of the forest. I know the Norrd mist is sensitive. I know the ring keeps it balanced. I know without it, the mist could behave unpredictably.”
The mist around her pulled back, as if ashamed.
“And I know one more thing,” she added. “If the ring disappeared, the Soundstrider would get bored. And a bored Soundstrider…” She paused. “…is not a pleasant thought.”
From the forest came a hollow clop‑clop‑clop, followed by a chime and an immediate soft shff, as the sound vanished into his body.
“You see?” she sighed. “He’s not malicious. He just… when he wants to hear a sound, he makes sure he gets one.”
Then she noticed him emerging from the trees, heading toward the house.
“I told you,” she said—and the Soundstrider froze, then bolted deeper into the forest.
“I told you,” Verdana repeated. This time it wasn’t a complaint. This time it was the truth.
Bipilon’s Note
“She’s offended? Must be Tuesday.”