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The desert stretched out for many miles, the nearest cities or
towns or even settlements not visible from where they stood, and
immense sand dunes defined the landscape. Bonnibel could almost see
the shapes of the long-buried ruins there. Of the first civilization
known to history, or more recent try at society that just hadn’t made
it; there were many of those, too many to fit into the books.
Counting them was like finding all the bodies of forgotten soldiers
marched to their doom in wars no one remembered anymore.
It was sad, and it was the way of the chaotic and brutal world
they lived in. Everything changed all the time, and it enforced a
curious sort of stasis; there was nothing stable, nothing permanent,
and so there wasn’t really anything that really changed in
a meaningful way. No markers to determine how things used to be. Like
standing in sand and getting covered in it.
Bonnibel wasn’t sure why
this sort of thing bothered her.
Marcy told her all the time that this kind of intensity really wasn’t
good for her. ‘You’re a kid’, she said. ’Chill out already.
Also dig up some of that garbage there, I think I saw an unopened can
of dragon meats!’
So now Bonnibel, standing
alone with Finn while Marceline had wandered off to do… whatever it
was she did when she wanted to be alone, dragged a hand along the
edge of an stairway so ancient that thinking about it made her feel
small and brief and humiliatingly transitory.