Their homes are not like ours, they are pieced directly from the earth, and sometimes centuries old. As they are reborn every spring, they build their lives upon the remains left from the past summer. Small snail shells, delicate acorn caps, and other small fragments form the humble shelters where nightly they clean their luminous carapaces and rest their weary legs.
No one really knows why one steward might favor a walnut shell home, or why another may wish to instead curl up within the shell of a long dead snail, but the homes they seek often hint at the tasks they will be drawn to complete. Those that live in more ephemeral homes, such as within an old seed pod or underneath a fallen branch, prefer the quicker, more novel tasks. They love to herd the brine shrimp to their grazing fields or ward off the creatures that crave a quick salamader egg snack. Others prefer to live in more permanent abodes, in which hundreds of past generations have dwelled. Whether they nest among a dead creatures bones or beneath a smooth river stone, these stewards are drawn to the more repetitious and peaceful of tasks. Crafting the generational records that future stewards will reference requires patience and a special attention to detail, as does tending to the algea fields that feed them all.
Every evening, before the little stewards can slumber, they must build themselves a new bed. Blown of tiny bubbles and clumped together by their sticky spit, these glistening nests keep their inhabitants cozy and secure through the long spring nights.But beyond sleeping through the night, they spend little times in their humble homes.
Most of their days are spent outside, in the vast waters of the great vernal pool, where with their friends, they complete their daily tasks and eat their evening meal. Like us, their eyes aren't much good in the darkness of the night. Small bioluminescent plants and clumps of glowing algae light their pools. These algae and plants are delicate beings, every year, before summer reaches its peak, they must carefully collect and package these glowing creatures, to ensure the next generation can have nightime light.
Each generation does things a little differently. Some traces inherited from the past, and others formed a new from the merging of this unique collection of minds. Some generations fare better than others, but even those that fail leave records for future stewards to see. Small swirling symbols are etched into the crumbling stone wall that hems in the north edge of the pool. To human eyes they seem only to be the stone's natural pattern, but if knowing eyes look hard enough, they may seen tales of generations past. Click here my dear reader to return to the front page.
No one really knows why one steward might favor a walnut shell home, or why another may wish to instead curl up within the shell of a long dead snail, but the homes they seek often hint at the tasks they will be drawn to complete. Those that live in more ephemeral homes, such as within an old seed pod or underneath a fallen branch, prefer the quicker, more novel tasks. They love to herd the brine shrimp to their grazing fields or ward off the creatures that crave a quick salamader egg snack. Others prefer to live in more permanent abodes, in which hundreds of past generations have dwelled. Whether they nest among a dead creatures bones or beneath a smooth river stone, these stewards are drawn to the more repetitious and peaceful of tasks. Crafting the generational records that future stewards will reference requires patience and a special attention to detail, as does tending to the algea fields that feed them all.
Every evening, before the little stewards can slumber, they must build themselves a new bed. Blown of tiny bubbles and clumped together by their sticky spit, these glistening nests keep their inhabitants cozy and secure through the long spring nights.But beyond sleeping through the night, they spend little times in their humble homes.
Most of their days are spent outside, in the vast waters of the great vernal pool, where with their friends, they complete their daily tasks and eat their evening meal. Like us, their eyes aren't much good in the darkness of the night. Small bioluminescent plants and clumps of glowing algae light their pools. These algae and plants are delicate beings, every year, before summer reaches its peak, they must carefully collect and package these glowing creatures, to ensure the next generation can have nightime light.
Each generation does things a little differently. Some traces inherited from the past, and others formed a new from the merging of this unique collection of minds. Some generations fare better than others, but even those that fail leave records for future stewards to see. Small swirling symbols are etched into the crumbling stone wall that hems in the north edge of the pool. To human eyes they seem only to be the stone's natural pattern, but if knowing eyes look hard enough, they may seen tales of generations past. Click here my dear reader to return to the front page.
