TINKER BLOMP did not feel as generous as others might consider him, though certainly he was thoughtful.
Tinkering was all about balances, the weighing of one thing against another. He was a master juggler but knew that even he might miss his aim and it only took one slip for the whole performance to end in disaster.
'Are you sure you will not try even a little piece of Green Milk Light?' a fellow passenger next to him on board the passenger boat to Pulverin said.
'I thank you, no,' Blomp replied with gently raised hand. 'These radishes and spice bread slices are quite adequate for my needs.' The other desisted politely, for it was unkind to press upon another that which they did not desire, even if it was cheese.
Had Tinker Blomp performed an unkindness of his own?
There were things about the world which were awry. The summer had been full of rumours upon doom, yet it was the Era of the Dove Star, traditionally a time of optimism among the peoples across many lands.
Where had such rumours begun? They seemed according to those back in Affinity who enjoyed studying such things, to appear as if by spontaneous generation in widely separate places. He was determined to find out for himself, for there was nothing more infuriating than having someone else juggle with reality through mischievous actions that ignored consequences.
Someone had tampered with the shape of the world, not through actual physical change, but how everyone perceived it, like placing a distorting glass between the observer and the thing observed.
Quality control was not as it used to be.