“I slid rapidly down the dark burrow to the threshold of the sub-plains where the color market lay, and landing with my feet firmly on the hard ground, brushed myself off as I stood to look around the poorly lit surroundings. The color market was like a tiny village, spread wide to house workshops, vending stations, and Tintors’ homes tucked away like small caves along the hollowed veins of its circuitry. The only light came from candles and the bioluminescent chubbiness of flightless flaptoot byrds perched on the leafless branches of small, dead trees scattered about.”
Rachel Tremblay 