“But its power is only in its Form. It fails to convey a Meaning.”
Why does a Making have to convey a meaning? She thought. She felt an impulse to be argumentative. How exciting to talk about Makings, whether meaningful or not! As far as her brothers were concerned, her need to fashion Makings was a curse that oughtn’t to be discussed outside the family.
“Most of us don’t appreciate Makings,” the Stranger said. “Imagine that! No creature is so gifted with its hands, yet Raccoons don’t like the idea of a Making. Termites care more about Makings than we do. And Honeybees. We think our hands are just for climbing branches. For opening bins. For washing food. We’ll tolerate a Making so long as it doesn’t mean anything. So long as it’s just a pretty form.”
That stung! He’d called her Making a pretty form. Actually, a form had meaning, though what it meant was anybody’s guess. A form helped you find meanings.
Touchwit told the boy in her to shut up. The boy energy was pushing her to start an all-out argument, and that wouldn’t help her find out more about Making, Meaning, and this reticent Maker. This was the most important discussion she’d ever had. She held her peace. At least, she’d got the Stranger to reveal something about himself. He wanted to talk and he suddenly had a lot to say. Maybe he’d come out of his tree.
“Isn’t the world big enough for all kinds of Making?” she asked. “The ones that say what they mean and the ones that don’t say anything.”
“If Raccoons took Making seriously, they could remake the world.”
“They could what?”
“They could fix what’s wrong in the world. I can take you to the School, if you want. It’s a place for reasoning about kinds of Makings. You’ll see Makings you never knew existed …”
“Do they all have meanings?”
He didn’t answer. She was left staring at a tree. Why didn’t he answer – he’d been so chatty.
“It’s better for you to see them with your own eyes than for me to describe them.”
Okay, that made sense. “Where is this School?”
“It’s in the city.”
“Can you take me there?”
Pause.
“Easier to meet me there.”
I get it. He has a disability. A limp maybe. Or a torn ear.
“Tell me where to be.” This was exhilarating. She was going to the City. To a guild of Makers. It felt easy to come to the City and already have a place to settle and someone to introduce you to people. Her kind of people.
“Swim to the Halfway Island. Then across the water from it you’ll see a cove with a dock. There’s a Primate restaurant. I’ll be there.”
“When?”
“Right away, if you like. Before this storm hits. Just give me some time to get started.”
“Okay, I’ll be there. Before the wind shifts.” At last, a turning in her quest. She would find a life in the City. A society of Makers. And someone who understood what Making was.
ACT III
Freedoms and Responsibilities
Slypaws, a tourist in the City
Twitchwhisker, her friend
Clutch, leader of the defense of Creek Town
Sleekfoot and Lightfinger, his field commanders
Lickfoot and Silverheels, two Town Mothers
Clawface, a scout for Meatbreath
Bandit, a spy in the City Honour Guard
Friskywits, Bandit’s cousin and sidekick
Lockjaw, a panderer, and Drooplip, a bawd, procurers
The Judge, a City Father
Sensibella, a secret agent masquerading as a courtesan
The Directory of Security, a city official
The Guild of Artists (Makers)
Mindwalker, a wilderness artist and leader of the Resistance
Touchwit, his fellow artist and strategist
