Post by Aegle Vitus on Mar 15, 2019 21:26:40 GMT
"What are they?"
The backyard stretched out before them. It rolled, a white blanket of fresh fallen snow, all the way from the sharp cut stone of the porch to the very base of the black ring wall that surrounded the whole village. Vulcan, seated with his back to the wall, lowered the small collection of wires and dust circuits, which he was ostensibly examining while he was actually keeping an eye on her.
"What're what?"
She was staring out at the sky. It sprang forth from the shadow of the ringwall, deep as the sea and dotted with lights, hauntingly clear as only fresh snow and bitter cold could make it.
"The stars."
Vulcan's eyes narrowed slightly, and he followed her gaze up to the sable sky and the hundreds of thousands of lights that pricked it.
"They're stars." He ventured after a moment, giving the obvious answer out of habit, in spite of Aegle's known tendency to greatly over-complicate simple questions. Sure enough, his little sister looked away from the sky she'd been scrutinizing and lanced Vulcan with a piercing stare.
"What are stars though?" She asked him pointedly. Vulcan blew out a sigh, and set aside the little device he'd been fiddling with. He came forward on his chair, arms braced across his knees, and craned his head all the way back, till all he could see was the dotted expanse of the heavens over head.
"Well," Affecting the a knowing air, full of worldliness inherited from their father but which he, a boy on the cusp of manhood, had yet to wholly grow into, "no one knows for sure..."
After a few moments, his gaze slid slyly down, to catch Aegle frowning impatiently at him. Some of the world-weariness on his face slipped, revealing a tight little grin beneath.
"Buuut," Repressing a chuckle, Vulcan dragged out the word, to Aegle's apparent approval, "We think they might be suns."
"Suns?" Aegle echoed, her expectant impatience melting away, to be replaced by open surprise. She flung her gaze skyward again, eyes darting among the stars, "All of 'em?"
"S'what we think." Vulcan agreed sagely, following his sister's gaze back up to the night sky.
"Woah..."
The sat like that for a few moments, Aegle wondering at the enormity of such information, and trying to reframe the biggest thing she knew of to fit the thousand tiny bright dots overhead. Vulcan, meanwhile, reflected on facts long ago committed to memory but which he'd never quite considered in anything more than a purely academic context.
When he finally judged his introspection to have been sufficiently reverent, Vulcan turned his attention back to his set-aside gadget.
"Hang on..." Aegle said, just as he was about to take it up again. She turned slightly at the edge of the porch, red lines of the blanket flashing warmly in answer of the small adjustment. She looked at him, mouth partways open, eyes thoughtfully narrowed, as she tried to find the right way to articulate the thought that had just popped into her head. Vulcan let his hand settle back down and waited with expectant calm for her to continue.
"If they're all suns, yeah," Aegle ventured finally, her eyes refocusing from the middle-distance they'd been staring into, to seek out Vulcan's own mossy gaze, "Why's the night so dark?"
She looked past him, up to the hundreds of tiny pinpricks that lit the heavens above his head.
"S'so many of 'em, Why isn't it bright all the time?"
Vulcan stared back at her, watching as she went back to scouring the heavens, practically able to hear the gears grinding in her head as she tried to work out the little conundrum she'd just made for herself. Blinking, he looked up again, back to the stars.
"Well," He said, with almost the same indulgently bored tone as before, "Y'know how when y'shine a torch on a wall, from real close up, how it makes that nice, bright circle?"
Her attention snatched back from the heavens, Aegle took a moment to imagine what Vulcan was describing, then gave a hesitant nod.
"And y'know how that circle gets bigger and dimmer as you move back?"
Another pause, followed by another hesitant nod.
"Now imagine it's not a wall, but something small, yeah? Like a marble..."
"Or a bunny!"
Vulcan paused, some shadow of his grin sneaking into his studiously academic expression, "If y'like... Well, that bunny isn't getting all the light y'shining at it. A lot of the light is shining past it, lighting up the things around the bunny, but not the bunny itself."
Aegle's brow furrowed and she imagined a little brown rabbit in a pool of expanding and dimming light, and tried to connect that idea to what Vulcan was attempting to explain. If she thought of the light as being like being made of snow flakes, with them drifting further and further apart the further away she moved, it made a little more sense...
Vulcan continued, "The Sun is so close to us that we get a lot of light from it. So much that it makes the sky blue and the ground warm. The stars are a lot further away, yeah? So we don't get as much light from them. Just a tiny bit from each one."
Aegle was nodding slowly. She had drawn back so far by this point, that only one or two snowflakes were settling on her imaginary bunny's back, where before it had been enough to bury the little creature.
She looked up at the sky again, imagining all those stars, as those snow flakes, falling on the back of their fuzzy little world.
"How far away?" She asked after a moment. Vulcan pulled his hand back in, once more aborted on its course to resume his homework.
"Hard t'say," He said, before indicating a bigger, redder star that hung just over the ring wall's edge, "That's the Huntsman's Star, and we reckon it's the closest. If you could move as fast as light does, it'd take y'four years or more to reach it."
Goosebumps and an uncomprehending shudder rushed through Aegle. She'd known for some time that light wasn't actually immediate, just really really fast, and she could not imagine it taking light four years to do anything.
Even trying to imagine how big a distance that would require made her head spin. Raising her hand from out of the protective cocoon of the dust treated blanket, Aegle folded a trembling thumb over the Huntsman's Star, and watched it wink in and out of sight with the trembling of her hand. With an effort of will, she steadied her hand and eased her thumb down, till it was just beneath the red dot, catching that single crimson snowflake on the very tip.
She blinked hard, feeling dizzy, and swayed where she sat, the prickle of gooseflesh on her arms bursting into a cold tingling all across her body. The trembling returned and her hand sagged, dragged down by some unseen weight. The tremors grew worse, and she hastily coiled her fingers into a fist, tucking her hand out of sight before Vulcan could notice, but notice he did.
"Y'alright?" He asked, his pretense of calm curiosity belying a brittle glass edge. It was a tone she'd heard more and more from her family in recent months.
"M'fine," Aegle said, "S'just cold, y'know?"
Aegle stared at her scroll, and the three missed calls its flashing display described; It barely had the chance to vibrate before her poised thumb came down on the crimson 'x' that formed beneath it. After a moment, the caller ID faded, and the screen returned to flashing its sedate alert, now reading four missed calls. There was no fifth call.
When the screen went dark, she let her eyes slide away from it and up to the window at her bed side. Behind the sterile glare of the infirmary lights, above the glow of the City of Vale, she could just barely make out the sky and the many stars which populated it.
The backyard stretched out before them. It rolled, a white blanket of fresh fallen snow, all the way from the sharp cut stone of the porch to the very base of the black ring wall that surrounded the whole village. Vulcan, seated with his back to the wall, lowered the small collection of wires and dust circuits, which he was ostensibly examining while he was actually keeping an eye on her.
"What're what?"
She was staring out at the sky. It sprang forth from the shadow of the ringwall, deep as the sea and dotted with lights, hauntingly clear as only fresh snow and bitter cold could make it.
"The stars."
Vulcan's eyes narrowed slightly, and he followed her gaze up to the sable sky and the hundreds of thousands of lights that pricked it.
"They're stars." He ventured after a moment, giving the obvious answer out of habit, in spite of Aegle's known tendency to greatly over-complicate simple questions. Sure enough, his little sister looked away from the sky she'd been scrutinizing and lanced Vulcan with a piercing stare.
"What are stars though?" She asked him pointedly. Vulcan blew out a sigh, and set aside the little device he'd been fiddling with. He came forward on his chair, arms braced across his knees, and craned his head all the way back, till all he could see was the dotted expanse of the heavens over head.
"Well," Affecting the a knowing air, full of worldliness inherited from their father but which he, a boy on the cusp of manhood, had yet to wholly grow into, "no one knows for sure..."
After a few moments, his gaze slid slyly down, to catch Aegle frowning impatiently at him. Some of the world-weariness on his face slipped, revealing a tight little grin beneath.
"Buuut," Repressing a chuckle, Vulcan dragged out the word, to Aegle's apparent approval, "We think they might be suns."
"Suns?" Aegle echoed, her expectant impatience melting away, to be replaced by open surprise. She flung her gaze skyward again, eyes darting among the stars, "All of 'em?"
"S'what we think." Vulcan agreed sagely, following his sister's gaze back up to the night sky.
"Woah..."
The sat like that for a few moments, Aegle wondering at the enormity of such information, and trying to reframe the biggest thing she knew of to fit the thousand tiny bright dots overhead. Vulcan, meanwhile, reflected on facts long ago committed to memory but which he'd never quite considered in anything more than a purely academic context.
When he finally judged his introspection to have been sufficiently reverent, Vulcan turned his attention back to his set-aside gadget.
"Hang on..." Aegle said, just as he was about to take it up again. She turned slightly at the edge of the porch, red lines of the blanket flashing warmly in answer of the small adjustment. She looked at him, mouth partways open, eyes thoughtfully narrowed, as she tried to find the right way to articulate the thought that had just popped into her head. Vulcan let his hand settle back down and waited with expectant calm for her to continue.
"If they're all suns, yeah," Aegle ventured finally, her eyes refocusing from the middle-distance they'd been staring into, to seek out Vulcan's own mossy gaze, "Why's the night so dark?"
She looked past him, up to the hundreds of tiny pinpricks that lit the heavens above his head.
"S'so many of 'em, Why isn't it bright all the time?"
Vulcan stared back at her, watching as she went back to scouring the heavens, practically able to hear the gears grinding in her head as she tried to work out the little conundrum she'd just made for herself. Blinking, he looked up again, back to the stars.
"Well," He said, with almost the same indulgently bored tone as before, "Y'know how when y'shine a torch on a wall, from real close up, how it makes that nice, bright circle?"
Her attention snatched back from the heavens, Aegle took a moment to imagine what Vulcan was describing, then gave a hesitant nod.
"And y'know how that circle gets bigger and dimmer as you move back?"
Another pause, followed by another hesitant nod.
"Now imagine it's not a wall, but something small, yeah? Like a marble..."
"Or a bunny!"
Vulcan paused, some shadow of his grin sneaking into his studiously academic expression, "If y'like... Well, that bunny isn't getting all the light y'shining at it. A lot of the light is shining past it, lighting up the things around the bunny, but not the bunny itself."
Aegle's brow furrowed and she imagined a little brown rabbit in a pool of expanding and dimming light, and tried to connect that idea to what Vulcan was attempting to explain. If she thought of the light as being like being made of snow flakes, with them drifting further and further apart the further away she moved, it made a little more sense...
Vulcan continued, "The Sun is so close to us that we get a lot of light from it. So much that it makes the sky blue and the ground warm. The stars are a lot further away, yeah? So we don't get as much light from them. Just a tiny bit from each one."
Aegle was nodding slowly. She had drawn back so far by this point, that only one or two snowflakes were settling on her imaginary bunny's back, where before it had been enough to bury the little creature.
She looked up at the sky again, imagining all those stars, as those snow flakes, falling on the back of their fuzzy little world.
"How far away?" She asked after a moment. Vulcan pulled his hand back in, once more aborted on its course to resume his homework.
"Hard t'say," He said, before indicating a bigger, redder star that hung just over the ring wall's edge, "That's the Huntsman's Star, and we reckon it's the closest. If you could move as fast as light does, it'd take y'four years or more to reach it."
Goosebumps and an uncomprehending shudder rushed through Aegle. She'd known for some time that light wasn't actually immediate, just really really fast, and she could not imagine it taking light four years to do anything.
Even trying to imagine how big a distance that would require made her head spin. Raising her hand from out of the protective cocoon of the dust treated blanket, Aegle folded a trembling thumb over the Huntsman's Star, and watched it wink in and out of sight with the trembling of her hand. With an effort of will, she steadied her hand and eased her thumb down, till it was just beneath the red dot, catching that single crimson snowflake on the very tip.
She blinked hard, feeling dizzy, and swayed where she sat, the prickle of gooseflesh on her arms bursting into a cold tingling all across her body. The trembling returned and her hand sagged, dragged down by some unseen weight. The tremors grew worse, and she hastily coiled her fingers into a fist, tucking her hand out of sight before Vulcan could notice, but notice he did.
"Y'alright?" He asked, his pretense of calm curiosity belying a brittle glass edge. It was a tone she'd heard more and more from her family in recent months.
"M'fine," Aegle said, "S'just cold, y'know?"
Aegle stared at her scroll, and the three missed calls its flashing display described; It barely had the chance to vibrate before her poised thumb came down on the crimson 'x' that formed beneath it. After a moment, the caller ID faded, and the screen returned to flashing its sedate alert, now reading four missed calls. There was no fifth call.
When the screen went dark, she let her eyes slide away from it and up to the window at her bed side. Behind the sterile glare of the infirmary lights, above the glow of the City of Vale, she could just barely make out the sky and the many stars which populated it.