"The two boys stood, hand in hand, at the top of the cliff. In the gloaming, the plain looked blue-grey and lonely. 'Can you do this?' the bronze one asked the silver, hesitant but trusting. The silver boy nodded. His throat was tight and his palms were sweating, one sticking hotly to the hand it held and the other turning frigid in the biting predawn wind. He opened his mouth and exhaled.

"Nothing. Of course there was nothing. Was the black speck circling against the lightening sky far off in the direction of the city a hawk or a vulture? Would each flap of its wings send fossilized feathers down to pave the road from the city to the cliff? In a land where even eagles refused to cry, how could a boy who glowed like the moon be expected to scream?

"The bronze boy, the sun-boy understood. He always understood his friend's need to shout and roar and tear at his delicate throat, although he had never felt it. Gently, he disentangled his spidery fingers from the slick confines of their intertwined hands. Then, imperceptibly at first and with increasing force, he gripped heaving, cloak-covered shoulders. 'Try again,' he urged. Head hung, breaths deep. Trying. For him, the silver one would try anything.

"Silence, one minute, two, ten, too late. The rising sun tinged the horizon dazzling white. Soon, the hazy, ethereal light of a day-long morning would begin again. Soon, the city would once again look even more fragile than it was. Soon, the grass would hiss like brushed fur and the jagged inviting edges of the glittering buildings would crumble slowly in silence. Soon, the boys would be back in the incessant musical tittering of the city. A world with room enough for everyone but no space for a scream."