hwango

Hello, children. Oh, I was just looking at the clouds. Yes, they are pretty, but I'm actually watching them specifically because that one over there looks suspicious, and I don't trust it. You can never be too careful when it comes to giant things floating overhead, such as zeppelins, or the moon, or especially clouds. Actually, that reminds me of a story.

There once lived a reclusive faerie called Sludgewick Myrmisnoot. One reason Sludgewick was reclusive is that he didn't particularly enjoy the company of other faeries. Sludgewick was one of those rare faeries who might be slightly mischievous now and then, but who was rarely malicious. Although, it would have been difficult to engage in much malice even if he wanted to, since he preferred to avoid others as much as he possibly could, an inclination to which I'm sure we can all relate. Well, I can, anyway.

The other reason Sludgewick was reclusive is that he spent most of his time crafting artisanal clouds, and you need a lot of open space for that sort of activity.

Now, not all clouds are raised and managed by faeries - there are plenty of wild or feral clouds out there. Wild clouds form when accumulations of like-minded water vapor coalesce together around some airborne object, usually a particularly charismatic bit of water vapor. However, it is not unheard of for clouds to form instead around things such as unwary birds, stray kites, restless ghosts, and so on. Sludgewick preferred to build his clouds around the little fluffy things that carry the seeds of milkweed, thistles, and dandelions, but he would sometimes depart from this preference when struck by other inspiration.

Sludgewick would sometimes create bespoke rainclouds for farmers who wanted to water their crops, or for malicious faeries who wanted to ruin birthday parties or murder individuals for whom water is inimical, such as salt golems, origami foxes, and certain witches. Mostly, he made clouds simply for the satisfaction of making them. I believe he found stacking water molecules on top of each other very relaxing.

One day, Sludgewick espied a pretty red leaf dancing along in the wind, and thought it would make an interesting heart for a cloud.

Alas, Sludgewick did not realize that this particular leaf was filled with rage. It had fallen from the branch of a very ill-tempered tree, and it was the very first leaf shed that autumn. The leaf, once separated from the hive-mind and granted terrible self-awareness, was outraged that it had been deemed so superfluous, and just callously thrown away. The tree had cast the leaf into a strong breeze that would carry it far, far away, almost as if the tree couldn't even bear to be near it. The leaf had spent months converting sunlight into chemical energy for that ungrateful tree, and this was the thanks that it got? The leaf hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to its favorite squirrel.

And so even though Sludgewick was only trying to make a whimsical little cumulus cloud that would flitter about in the wind, he instead got a raging cumulonimbus that spat lightning everywhere and made a terrible racket.

A typical faerie probably would have torn the cloud to pieces and salvaged it for scrap, or sent it to exterminate an entire family reunion of water-soluble witches, but Sludgewick knew that part of being an artist is realizing that not everything you make is going to be a masterpiece. So Sludgewick released the cloud to wander off on its own and live out its existence as it wished. The cloud responded by drenching Sludgewick with a great deal of very cold rain. Sludgewick certainly couldn't spend as much time as he did making clouds if he was bothered by getting a bit wet, but such insolence could not be left unanswered, and so he placed a terrible curse upon the cloud and then summoned a sharp gust of wind to blow it away.

The cloud, disoriented by the wind, meandered aimlessly across the sky for some time. Eventually, the cloud found itself floating high above the tree that had shed the leaf that had come to be used as the cloud's heart. Lightning crackled like diabolical laughter as the cloud realized that it was poised perfectly to seek revenge.

First, the cloud threw hail and rain at the tree, attempting to knock off all of the other apparently more important and valuable leaves. The tree was quite hardy, however, and so the cloud managed to dislodge only a tiny fraction of the leaves. Driven to madness by frustration and thoughts of revenge, the cloud turned instead to a merciless barrage of lightning, which ultimately blasted the tree apart in a shower of splintered wood. Only after the cloud looked down in satisfaction upon the devastation did it remember that its favorite squirrel had still lived in that tree.

Overcome with remorse, the cloud attempted to hurl itself into the sun, which had always seemed so close by in its memories of being a leaf. Alas, it turned out that the sun was rather further away than the cloud thought, and the cloud froze into a ball of ice in the empty blackness of space.

Now trapped in the form of a tiny comet, the former cloud drifts through the solar system desperately trying to return to earth so it can melt and end its tormented existence. Every few decades, it passes quite close by, and Sludgewick waves to it.

The lesson to be learned here is that just about anything could be hiding inside a cloud, and so you should always fear and distrust them. Also, it is unwise to antagonize even relatively benign faeries, because deep in their hearts always lies the capacity for unspeakably disproportionate revenge.

Now, all of you should really be getting home. That cloud I was worried about is getting closer.