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The
Pulchrid is a beautiful insect - so refined that it moves
through water, through the metal hull of the ship, and through
me as easily as it does through air. It is a subtle creature
and I am only aware that it has passed through my flesh by
the scent of wheat and crushed stems that comes suddenly on
the breeze and is gone; like something glimpsed briefly through
vines and branches that leaves a lasting impression on the
soul. In its presence you may find yourself thinking of deep
fragrant wells and eroding desert sandwalls, of ancient shipwrecks
consumed by coral and fingers stretching lovingly for the
touch of a hand. Because it is little more than a thought
itself, it can steer thoughts - like glass marbles through
the ether. It saddens me that The Pulchrid is by far the least
numerous of the marauders here.
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