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The little mouse took his role as a Recordkeeper very seriously - as, indeed, anyone familiar with the basic principles of the worlds of the Empyrean would. What was written on the scrolls were more than sacred myths and genealogies and laws that governed construction of buildings, tilling of land, and good hygiene - together, these writings governed how the very laws of nature behaved on the airborne island he and his people called home. And that was, of course, the nature of every island in the Empyrean, though the records were different for each: the Records of Wellingtonia were the fevered dances performed by its elders at the roots of its great tree; Allsaints was governed by the great library housed in the Cathedral of the First Light of Morning, and Hardai's natural order was set into motion by the wolf-songs of its first settlers. If a Record was destroyed, or damaged, or defaced, then the island itself would become more wild, as the creative energy of a world-becoming-a-world required the direction and understanding of its inhabitants, and their understanding needed to be made manifest in such Records. Without them, it would have nothing solid to anchor on, which would be disastrous for everyone living there. |