Status Updates From The Outskirter's Secret (Th...

“He sat long in thought; and it came to Rowan that he would attempt to express a very abstract idea, and that the small words with which he was most familiar would prove insufficient tools.
"In the morning," he said hesitantly, "the sun comes up. …To sleep or to rise…to decide this, you must first know one thing: that the sun is up. In life, this is always true. In order to do, you must know."

“It is strange. It inspires strange thoughts."
She pulled her gaze from the object and turned to study the seyoh, speculatively. "You seem to regard that as good."
He smiled, slightly. "I thought long on it... I thought in a strange fashion. It is useful, to think strangely. You see the world in a different way, become hard to fool.

“The wind across the sky flaps hummed two deep tones, rising and falling in tandem. Outside, the redgrass rattled, tapped, hissed. In her months in the Outskirts, Rowan had forgotten that the redgrass sounded like rain. Now it became rain again: the Outskirts themselves, daring to tell a lie to a steerswoman. False information, covering secrets."

“Outside, the night was cool and clear…The tents were faint shapes, difficult to discern; their black star-shadows seemed to hold more substance than they themselves did. Rowan passed in and out of those shadows, half expecting to feel their edges on her skin, like the touch of the water's surface on a rising swimmer's face. The fire pit was cold, with the ancient, deserted smell of dead ashes.”

“She sat in the gloom. A shaft of sunlight slanted in through the entrance, carving from the shadows a single canted block of illumination, lying across the bright-patterned carpet. Colors glowed, brilliant: sharp planes, intricate cross-lines. There seemed to be two carpets: a shadowy one covering the entire tent-floor, and another, smaller one lying before her, constructed purely of colored light.”

“Light slowly grew, the flat pastel of predawn. People and objects seemed to wear the pale colors like paint on their surfaces and skins. The only tones that held any depth were the sea gray of Averryl's eyes; the rich earth brown of Bel's; and the fragmenting, shifting blue of the jewels on Bel's belt, glittering as she moved, testing the shapes of the signals she learned.”

“The world was a swirl of red and brown, shifting and shuddering, and the air was awash with sound: an endless hissing and a patternless pattering chatter that filled her ears completely and overflowed, taking up residence in her buzzing skull. …
She came to a stop like a ship at sea and turned into the wind, sails luffing. She rocked against nonexistent swells.”

“…hills ranged, broken by two staggered ridges, then falling faintly lower as they reached out toward the horizon. A far lake sparkled silver in the distance, edged with looming dark shapes…
The air held a scent, like cinnamon and sour milk, over the freshness of departed rain. The tent beside Rowan wafted up a miasma of must and goat. Somewhere someone was roasting meat.”

Per me questa landa chiamata outskirts è l'Australia

Bloody count

Che tradizioni gli outskirts 👀

Rowan disorientata >_<*