“So you guard this thing day and night?”
“Yup,” said back the Guardian of the Water Tart, a full time job indeed. Else everyone would have a sword in Our Second Lyfe and chaos would ensue. GotWT makes sure that doesn’t happen; swords aren’t freely distributed hither and thither. He feels it is a very worthwhile occupation. Better than being a dung gatherer in Hoagietown. Like his brother.
“What about the little pixies here. Can’t they give you at least a bathroom break every now and then?” Must go in his pants, Jem thinks here. Like a spaceman, yuck!
(So I guess he’s also a dung gatherer in that disgusting way. I don’t see much difference in the brothers’ jobs, then.)
The guard didn’t know what pixies were so he kept silent. Oh… the *fairies*, he realized. The worthless things. Probably attached to the sword tart, he thinks, a long held theory. Their flight seems to be confined to the immediate region of the manifesting pool.
“Oops. There it goes again. She’s flung the sword back into the water and given us the piss off sign.”
GotWT knew it wasn’t flung anywhere. It merely disappears from her hands. But he thought that at the beginning as well. Until he studied the hand motions more, the path of the sword. He doesn’t correct her on this. Along with the piss off sign, as she put it, actually being a peace sign. Piss… peace, he then turns around in his head, free associating but for a reason. Can’t… wait.
Jem turns toward him. “You’re not saying much guardian. “Oh dear,” she realized, standing back and studying the strained look on his face. “You’re not… going.”
“As I said,” he managed.
“Not what I meant.”
Sunklands 