The best navigators could understand the songs of the celestial physeteridae, and unravel the many threads of their chorus. It required a very specific talent to turn arias to maps, and notes to destinations.
The cloudship was hanging too low, and listing to one side; when it passed over the church, the spire parted the vapor beneath the ship’s belly.
They kept their wishes in bird cages, dangling outside their windows. They almost couldn’t bear to hear the wishes sing, but it seemed even worse to let them go.
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