Winter/Spring

Language


Huginn: What is a mother tongue?

Muninn: Whatever language your mother spoke to you in.

H: But we never had a mother; all I can remember is ice.

M: Not that you can remember anything. I remember geometry, the flair of crystallinity, the taste of salt and the sanctity of cold. I remember a cow and a farmer, and impossible metaphor. I remember how we saved civilisation and destroyed it, sometimes on the same day. And all these were our mother tongues.

H: So what do I put on this form?

M: Write 'Chinese'. It's more believeable, and it's about the same.

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