Trinkets and Ruins

Through cracked windows of an abandoned city, critters and creatures teemed and scavenged the ruins. The old buildings were overgrown with vines and trees, their roots breaking through asphalt and concrete, and spilling into the empty streets. Birds nested in rusted, lopsided cars, and fat rats darted between shaded alleyways. Bigger animals liked to shelter in abandoned warehouses and rummaging through trash could reveal interesting treasures.

Amidst the bustling, Lyra stepped cautiously into the city. In contrast to her otherwise boundless energy, she paced over broken glass and empty streets like a fearful deer wary of wolves. She was used to the lush greenery of the wilderness or swampy waters of the marshlands, but these ruins and its harsh greys biting with the invading greens made her uneasy. These are unknown structures, landmarks and smells all around.

“This place is so strange,” Lyra voiced her thoughts, her wide green eyes scanning the hollowed-out buildings. “It smells... dead, but alive at the same time.”

A soft voice chuckled behind her. “It’s just old and full of history.”

With a gasp Lyra spun on her heels to face the origin of the voice. In a moment she thought she was in danger, but as her wild look was met by another pachy all her fright subsided. Her gaze was practically glued on the radiant orange feather crest and face of the stranger even. They almost looked ablaze with the warm colours melting into the grey off-white of their body.

While the slightly smaller pachy froze to gawk at the stranger, they broke the silence again. “This place is as wild as any other. There might be no rivers and the cliffs here may be steeper, but the rain falls all the same and seasons change as it does anywhere else. Creatures hunt, fight, live and thrive as in any other place. I know outsiders think this place… alien. I like to believe it’s just part of everything else,” for a brief moment their gaze tore from Lyra and they continued more wistfully. “There’s still so much to learn about who built all of these caves and monuments. I wonder what happened to them.”

They let their monologue come to a halt as their gaze vacantly floated above Lyra’s head. Perhaps caught in thought or daydreaming about past lifetimes. Then they continued before the silence overstayed its welcome, training their eyes on Lyra again.

“The name’s Wicke. Nice to meet you, stranger.”

“Oh. Oh! I am Lyra!” she hastily returned the introduction. To say she was a little dumbfounded by Wicke’s words might be an understatement. “I have never visited a, uh, biome like this before. The landscape is just so… different. Sorry?”

Wicke shook her head slowly, her feather crests swaying with her movements, “There’s nothing to apologise for, don’t worry.”

She regarded Lyra for a moment. “I can accompany you while you’re here. Maybe I can tell you about the things you don’t quite understand, if that helps. There are some corners more safe than others, I can show you where it’s easier to traverse,” she proposed.

“That’s really kind, yeah, I think I’d like that,” the dusty brown pachy answered. This place made her uneasy. So many corners and cliffs and harsh edges. She’d surely get lost without a guide.

“Very well,” Wicke nodded, happy to help. “Just follow me for a moment. If anything piques your interest don’t fret to ask questions. Maybe I have the answers for you.

Together they made their way deeper into the city.

Lyra trotted behind Wicke with new-found confidence now that she had company in this foreign place. Her trot slowed down and she craned her neck to peer into a broken doorway. The dark interior of what had once been a humble shop was filled with debris. Fallen shelves, shattered glass, and twisted metal frames decorated the room.

Lyra looked around the room, an artificially angular cave, void of lifely plantlife except the thriving mold, lichen and wiry weeds breaking through crevices of the tiled floor. Shielding out the odd pungent smell of broken down refrigerators lining one wall, she nudged at a pile of rubble with her snout, uncovering a few dented cans. Their labels faded but still somewhat legible, picturing… beans? Oranges? Pears? It’s unclear.

“Do you know what these are?” she asked, rolling one can toward Wicke who watched her from the entrance.

Wicke eyed it. “Those are some sort of vessel to hold and preserve foods. I don’t know how they were crafted or sealed shut, but there are still some around that have good food inside,” she explained. These were rather ordinary to her, but someone who lived in deep wooded areas likely didn’t come across that many man-made items. “Some similar shaped ones are even filled with sugary sweet water instead.”

Lyra tilted her head, her curiosity fuelled and understanding unsatisfied. Considering opening the can and discovering the contents, she ultimately decided against it. The city still felt eerie and in a way unnatural to her, even as it’s being overgrown with familiar flora. Trees grew through the skeletal remains of vacant apartments, their branches swaying in the wind whistling through broken windows. Birds chirped overhead, their calls echoing through the empty corridors of what had once been bustling human life.

Lyra tilted her head, trying to imagine the silent structure as something other than threatening. Watching Wicke turn and continue her restless venture, she pressed onward after her, abandoning the can. Climbing a small hill of rubble that led to a bridge, from here, they could see farther into the city.

She climbed after Wicke. Even with her shorter frame she caused loose debris to shift and tumble down the hill. When she reached the top, she froze. Below them, an enormous plaza sprawled out, overrun with vegetation. In the center stood a human statue, its face eroded and defiant posture covered in hardy moss and lichen. Surrounding the statue were the remnants of human structures like fountains, tilted benches, and trees and flowering bushes that long have outgrown the little boxes they were planted in.

“This plaza must’ve been a beautiful gathering place. If you clear some of the moss, you can see the vibrant colours of the rock beneath. Everything has been placed here for a purpose. To impose,” Wicke murmured, her voice filled with an odd sense of… nostalgia?

Lyra was enchanted. After an encouraging nod from Wicke, she leapt down the slope, knocking over small pieces of rusted rebar and rocks, and trotted into the plaza. She approached one of the marble fountains. It was cracked and the ornamental carvings were illegible, but its base was filled with rainwater and algae. A frog leapt from the water as she peered inside, reminding her of home.

“What do you think this was for?” she asked, her tail swishing as she glanced back at Wicke. She did recognise it as a simple pond, but the shape wasn’t quite right. The fountains tower aiming toward the sky like a stalagmite in a near perfect circle of a dish.

Wicke reached the plaza with slower, deliberate steps. She looked around with a certain fondness in her eyes. “Maybe people drank from it. With the way it was built, maybe it was just for show.”

Gazing into the murky water at the bottom of the pond didn’t give Lyra any answers. Turning away she wandered to the statue and perked up, craning her neck to look up at it. The human figure loomed above her, its surface worn down and weathered, but its stance was proud. One limb held high holding an object that was long too broken to be recognisable. She couldn’t tell what kind of animal it was, but the limbs reminded her of monkeys, although it lacked a tail.

“Do you think these animals were like us?” she asked softly.

Wicke joined her, standing beside the base of the statue. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I still don’t understand what motivated them. Maybe they were like us in many ways, but they didn’t last. Not like we have.”

Lyra kept silent as her words sank in, her gaze lingering on the statue before she turned her attention to the plaza’s edge. There, half-hidden beneath a tangle of vines, was the entrance to a large building. Its once-glass doors were shattered, and the faint scent of damp earth and decay wafted from within.

“Let’s go in there!” Lyra said, bounding toward the doorway to escape the lingering melancholy from too many questions circling in her head and a lost era.

Wicke let out a deep sigh as she too tore away from the plaza.

Lyra was already inside, her claws clicking on the reflective smooth floor. The building was vast, its interior dim and filled with echoes. Shafts of sunlight streamed through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating shelves that stretched toward the sky. Many of the shelves were empty, especially at lower levels, but some still held strange objects. Boxes, jars, and piles upon piles of papers and books.

“What was this place?” Lyra asked, her voice hushed in awe.

Wicke followed her, happy to hear such curiosity from a newcomer. “A den, maybe, or a place where they stored their things. I couldn’t find any nests not made recently and I still don’t know the purpose of a lot of items held here.”

Lyra sniffed at a pile of old books, their pages yellowed and brittle. She nudged one with her snout, and it practically crumbled to dust. “They had so much stuff, so many odd things,” she said, her tone puzzled. “Why would they need all of this?”

Wicke didn’t answer. Her attention was caught by a strange device lying on the floor, a metallic object with buttons and a cracked screen. He nudged it with her beak-like snout, and it let out a faint, broken chime.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted.

Lyra didn’t want to press it.

They continued exploring the tall building, their footsteps stirring up dust and the occasional scurrying rodent. Lyra found a rusted trinket, some kind of wheeled animal, and rolled it back and forth, giggling at its simplicity. She has seen the bigger skeletal remains of those in the streets, but this one seemed to be merely a toy. Wicke examined the walls, covered in faded human markings, scribes, graffiti and torn posters. Old tags and stories they couldn’t understand.

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows through the broken windows, Wicke finally spoke. “I think you should head back. It’s safer to rest in familiar places.”

Lyra sighed but didn’t argue. Together, they made their way out of the building and back into the open air. The city felt quieter now, the golden light of dusk softening its harsh edges. 

As they walked back toward the wilderness, Lyra glanced over her shoulder at the ruins. “Do you think we’ll ever leave behind something like this?” she asked.

Wicke’s face grew soft and she gave her a hopeful, “I hope so.”

Lyra smiled, her curiosity boundless. She knew she would return to the city one day. There was still so much to uncover, so many mysteries to explore. The unknown shouldn’t be feared after all. For now, though, she was content to say her farewell and return to her own home, the ancient ruins fading into the distance as she wandered back into the wild.

(1911 words according to Google Docs)