Maintenance

The glittering spires quested for the sun. The workers were already out in force, sanding and grinding. They had special dispensation; anyone else who damaged the crystal would be dealt with in the harshest possible manner.

It was hot work, and they soon paused, sipping from jugs as they dangled in their harnesses. “How much longer, d’you reckon?” asked Syle.

“Three hours,” Foreman Chek estimated.

“Ugh. Trimming toenails.”

“Them’s the toenails of a god,” Chek snapped. “And they ain’t gonna stop growing. Never. Slow and steady, long as the sun shines. Think about that.”

They did, and a silence fell.