The sky was a thick yellow beam of nastiness that dripped acrid rain and foul smellin’ smells onto the dessicated landscape. Sorta dessicated. In the process of becoming dessicated. It was the Spring Thaws and that’s when the ground cracked open and revealed its inner secrets: they did not amount to much but the Spring Thaws were a yearly mystery that yielded nothing interesting every year, but that did not prevent the residents of the Outlands from takin’ an interest anyway.

So yeah anyway, Crawley pried another board loose from his barn and flung it down onto the pile. It clattered and clanged and made a ruckus before the dust settled.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” cawed Crawley to his pal Bram, there to catch the boards but not get hurt during it. It was not a very important role, so he abandoned it and watched Crawley work from a distance.

“All fine,” Bram brayed back. “Spring Thaws bein’ what they are.”

Crawley nodded in false comprehension. Life had been tough lately, the last few years. The last nine or so if he were countin’ (which he was but claimed he wasn’t).

The troubles had waxed and waned like the Catcher’s Moon: weather, taxation, trade, bandits on The Edges, telling instead of showing, that sort of thing. Things had worsened in general, not for everyone, but for him certainly.

Crawley sighed like a loud Shiveler. “Bram ol’ pal hetcha on up to the krenner and peakin all the right ways if you don’t mind.” He didn’t know what that meant but he’d been saying it on and off just to see what it felt like. Crawley was a bit of a mess these days and a lot of people had slowly abandoned him. Bram was around, usually, because his life was also a mess but in a different way. People with broken lives tended to stick together because they sought out others who could reassure them they’re not alone while simultaneously languishing in their crummy lives. The important thing is nobody gets better and leaves the other to suffer alone. That was Bram and Crawley now, if we’re getting to the heart of things. Their friendship was based on length instead of depth.

“Aye ok you got it,” muttered Bram, and proceeded to do nothing. Instead he thought about his youth some more and enjoyed the crippling sorrow it brought him. Having regrets made you interesting, everybody knew that.

The barn was almost leveled now so Crawley could focus his attention on building a new one. The Assol Outlands were unforgiving of a particular sort when it came to barns. Something about their structure did not hold up well in the extreme climates of Winter Itself and the Summer Winds takin’ their turns beatin’ down the minds of the land. Just somethin’ to be aware of. But you still need barns for everything they do.

Crawley looked up at the nasty yellow sky and did not wonder at all if it looked like that from other parts of the world.