Tobin had only one job this morning: push his little market cart up and down the Tarnedrift Steps without trouble, so the walkways stayed safe for everyone. He planted his flour-dusted hands on the cart handle and set out between the rosemary pots and wind-bent moss, feeling the wheels hum over the worn stone.
Then the cloud birds landed.
They were basket-sized, round as puffed bread, with soft gray feathers that looked like mist. A whole flock of them settled on the bright roof tiles beside the steps and began pecking at the shiny pieces as if the roofs were seeds. Click. Crack. Click. One tile split, then another, and tiny bits of slate tapped and skittered down onto the walkway.
Tobin stopped so fast his cart gave a little jolt. He looked up at the birds, then down at the growing scatter of broken slate under his feet. The steps that had felt steady a moment ago were starting to look sharp and slippery.
From a landing above, Mira’s dark hair flashed as she hopped closer. From a balcony garden, Sella lifted her head from her rosemary pots and frowned at the roofline. Tobin could keep pushing forward, try to shoo the birds from where he stood, or climb higher to see what was drawing them to the tiles. But every peck made the path worse, and the next cart, or foot, could find the cracks first.
What happens next?
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