“Fellow Figures, Foresight forecasts a future fraught with friction.”
The response was an overwhelming guffaw. It was as if boulders were being dribbled against granite mountains, and the mountains themselves were quaking, rumbling beneath bouncing rocks. An entire throng was chortling, surely. Not so—just one among them was laughing. His laughter echoed within the mass of stone that surrounded them. “Foresight is a parrot,” he said between guffaws, “and his tongue is a wagging tail.”
“This Rift is as dangerous as fire. It will spread through Grammar like an inferno,” said another.
“The Rift is but a spark. The Pact will extinguish it,” the chortler insisted.
“This feud is no fizzling flicker. The founders’ frequent fights fan a flaring flame.”
“Fizz. Crackle. Bang!”
