~Gole~
“So, they finally renamed the flying glishen city. Toau City is a much better name than just calling a city with no glishen in it the old glishen city.” I remark as Poole rides on my back through the crowded streets of the flying city and he laughs.
“For once, I agree with you. Do you remember the way to the marble building where Thee and Gutu lived for a while?”
“Of course I remember where it is. I have excellent memory.” I scoff and Poole sighs,
“Not of the first four years of your life you don’t. Anyways, I was just checking, I wasn’t sure if you remembered it at all. You never visited it. Thee and Gutu missed you.”
I walk in silence, thinking over Poole’s words until my thought is broken as two dwarvish creatures race past me, almost knocking me off of the edge of the city.
“Watch it!” I shout as I regain my balance.
“Sorry!” One of the creatures calls back, and Poole, unfazed by our near fall, remarks,
“Those two were dwarf-emotio mixes. I haven’t seen any others in the city.”
I shrug,
“I don’t care what they are. They almost knocked us off the city.”
I scale the stairs where the train tracks used to be and remark,
“I wonder why they got rid of the railroad tracks and carved stairs instead. It would be much easier to ride a train up and down the city levels.”
“I doubt the doubs took care of the train tracks. They were probably beyond repair by the time they started fixing the city. I’m impressed how well the doubs have cooperated with the other creatures in fixing the city and living together,” Poole replies as I reach the top of the stairs.
I turn into the grassy park, well-lit by lanterns beneath the shadow of the upper city levels. I pass the fountain spewing water in the center of the park, surrounded by yellow flowers.
I quickly reach the marble building and ascend the stairs of the pure white building and enter the building. It feels cool inside.
Six chests, each with the name of one of the old group members carved into the wall above them sit along the walls. Poole slides off my back and hurries to his chest, pausing to look at the names of our deceased friends. He pulls a marble bow with a white quiver full of glass arrows, the very same that had amazingly survived the crash of our flying platform ten years earlier.
“Do you still have your hot pink lance?”
“Yes. On display at my house. The lance is about twenty years old! I can’t use it; it would shatter in my hands!” Poole exclaims as he slings the bow and quiver full of arrows onto his back.