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vocab_drabblesTitle: Snowbirds' Squall
Fandom: Mushishi
Author:![[archiveofourown.org profile]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/b164c54b26e4/-/archiveofourown.org/favicon.ico)
timegoesby
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 1,135
Characters: Ginko
Notes: Written also fortinyfandomflash
Summary:Throughout his travels, Ginko had been fortunate enough to observe several types of mushis that had formed relationships with one another that went further than simple predator and prey.
So, when Ginko came across a pair of mushi species he’d never heard of before, he observed them for two whole winters to glean as much information as he could.
Throughout his travels, Ginko had been fortunate enough to observe several types of mushis that had formed relationships with one another that went further than simple predator and prey. These symbiotic relationships had been widely documented by different Mushi Masters throughout the eras, including some like the Un and the Ah, the mushi pair that ate noise and silence respectively; the Umehibi and the Yamehibi, who lived separate existences until time came for them to merge into a single dragon-shaped mist; an the Tokoyama and the Ginko, the all-consuming darkness and the light that resided within it.
Ginko, for his part, was very interested in observing these mutualistic relationships in the wild, seeing as understanding the mushis’ nature was key to learning to live alongside them— perhaps not with them, necessarily, but certainly to coexist.
So, when Ginko came across a pair of mushi species he’d never heard of before, he observed them for two whole winters to glean as much information as he could.
The first glimpse he caught was, perhaps somewhat fatefully, the beginning of the cycle.
He’d been sitting listlessly outside his host home the morning after the first snow, lamenting the fact that he’d most likely be stranded at the mountain hamlet due to an ill-timed injury, when he caught sight of something moving below the fresh blanket of snow. Then, before he’d even hobbled to his feet, some hundreds of small white things shot up from the snow and disappeared into the sky. It happened too fast for him to be sure then, but he was almost certain they’d been shaped like birds.
There was a snow squall in the region that afternoon, though Ginko didn’t connect it to the little birds until later.
The second time he saw them, he was able to make out the details more clearly. They were small, chubby bird-like things, almost like buntings, but seemed to be made entirely of snow. He managed to catch one with a net— though not before making a fool of himself in front of the curious village children —and was able to study it in more detail, noticing that the bird itself seemed to be made of cold wind, with the only thing that held its shape together being a thin layer of hoarfrost that began to melt almost as soon as it came in contact with the heat of his palm.
A few days later, he saw the beetles.
They travelled on top of the snow without leaving tracks, and Ginko probably wouldn’t have seen them had he not been paying attention to the snowbirds as they dove down and picked them off the snow.
The bugs were about as big as his thumb and looked like scarab beetles made entirely out of ice, and though they were more resistant to body heat they still couldn’t survive indoors for long. While examining them Ginko also noticed that they didn’t have wings under their carapaces, but initially dismissed the fact as of little consequence.
After observing this phenomenon a few times, Ginko noted that a snow squall was sure to come around sundown on the days the snowbirds swept down to feed on the ice beetles.
It wasn’t until the boredom of winter had set in that Ginko decided to pass time by keeping an ice beetle as a pet, and thus made a new discovery.
At first, Ginko merely wondered why his ice beetle wasn’t thriving as much as those he saw out in the snow. It didn’t seem to be dying, but it never grew any bigger and its crystalline shell seemed to dull with time despite being provided with fresh snow every day.
Ginko didn’t particularly want to let it free just for it to end up eaten, so he compromised by painting its carapace with ink and setting it loose in the garden, hoping a change in appearance would be enough to deter any snowbirds nearby. His plan lasted all of two days before he watched helplessly on as a snowbird swept down and plucked it off the ground, and the blizzard that soon followed only seemed to mirror his mood.
However, the day after the storm he was greeted by a black spot crawling around the fresh snow, and he could swear it was even a little bigger than before.
Had it managed to escape?
This process was repeated several times during the span of winter, and Ginko concluded that the snowbirds weren’t eating the ice beetles to begin with. He ran a few more tests and discovered that the snowbirds essentially picked the beetles up and took them for a ride up in the clouds, causing a localised blizzard, and dropped them off after a few hours.
He surmised that the beetles drew nourishment from something high up in the sky but, since they themselves were earthbound, the only way they could get to it was with the help of the snowbirds.
If so, what were the snowbirds getting in return?
Ginko wouldn’t find out until the next winter, since both mushis disappeared overnight as spring approached.
And so he returned to the mountain hamlet well before the first snow a year later.
As predicted, the snowbirds emerged shortly after it snowed. Ginko caught one again and was surprised to discover a fat little ice grub clasped securely in its claws. He let the pair go and traced their source to one of the small burrows he’d seen the beetles digging the year prior, peering inside to discover almost half a dozen ice grubs wriggling inside. The burrow was unnaturally cold, and Ginko suspected it had stayed that way all throughout the year.
He stood back and watched as the birds returned to the burrows and left with more grubs— something he’d missed last year —again and again until the blizzard made it impossible for him to stay outside.
Continued observation of the two species throughout the winter led him to a few conclusions.
Firstly, as he suspected, the ice beetles seemed to need continued exposure to snow clouds to thrive.
Secondly, the snowbirds melted easily, being extremely sensitive to changes in temperature, and the only places cold enough for them when temperatures rose were the beetles’ burrows.
Lastly, the snowbirds and the beetles had developed keen awareness of each other, and were somehow able to communicate things like the location of their burrows and when it was time for the beetles to take to the sky again.
By the time spring came and both creatures sealed themselves underground, Ginko left town with a book full of notes and illustrations, eager to get to the Karibusa archives and cross-reference any mentions of these mushis he could find.
Perhaps he would return in a few winters to see how they were getting on.
Fandom: Mushishi
Author:
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 1,135
Characters: Ginko
Notes: Written also for
tinyfandomflashSummary:Throughout his travels, Ginko had been fortunate enough to observe several types of mushis that had formed relationships with one another that went further than simple predator and prey.
So, when Ginko came across a pair of mushi species he’d never heard of before, he observed them for two whole winters to glean as much information as he could.
Throughout his travels, Ginko had been fortunate enough to observe several types of mushis that had formed relationships with one another that went further than simple predator and prey. These symbiotic relationships had been widely documented by different Mushi Masters throughout the eras, including some like the Un and the Ah, the mushi pair that ate noise and silence respectively; the Umehibi and the Yamehibi, who lived separate existences until time came for them to merge into a single dragon-shaped mist; an the Tokoyama and the Ginko, the all-consuming darkness and the light that resided within it.
Ginko, for his part, was very interested in observing these mutualistic relationships in the wild, seeing as understanding the mushis’ nature was key to learning to live alongside them— perhaps not with them, necessarily, but certainly to coexist.
So, when Ginko came across a pair of mushi species he’d never heard of before, he observed them for two whole winters to glean as much information as he could.
The first glimpse he caught was, perhaps somewhat fatefully, the beginning of the cycle.
He’d been sitting listlessly outside his host home the morning after the first snow, lamenting the fact that he’d most likely be stranded at the mountain hamlet due to an ill-timed injury, when he caught sight of something moving below the fresh blanket of snow. Then, before he’d even hobbled to his feet, some hundreds of small white things shot up from the snow and disappeared into the sky. It happened too fast for him to be sure then, but he was almost certain they’d been shaped like birds.
There was a snow squall in the region that afternoon, though Ginko didn’t connect it to the little birds until later.
The second time he saw them, he was able to make out the details more clearly. They were small, chubby bird-like things, almost like buntings, but seemed to be made entirely of snow. He managed to catch one with a net— though not before making a fool of himself in front of the curious village children —and was able to study it in more detail, noticing that the bird itself seemed to be made of cold wind, with the only thing that held its shape together being a thin layer of hoarfrost that began to melt almost as soon as it came in contact with the heat of his palm.
A few days later, he saw the beetles.
They travelled on top of the snow without leaving tracks, and Ginko probably wouldn’t have seen them had he not been paying attention to the snowbirds as they dove down and picked them off the snow.
The bugs were about as big as his thumb and looked like scarab beetles made entirely out of ice, and though they were more resistant to body heat they still couldn’t survive indoors for long. While examining them Ginko also noticed that they didn’t have wings under their carapaces, but initially dismissed the fact as of little consequence.
After observing this phenomenon a few times, Ginko noted that a snow squall was sure to come around sundown on the days the snowbirds swept down to feed on the ice beetles.
It wasn’t until the boredom of winter had set in that Ginko decided to pass time by keeping an ice beetle as a pet, and thus made a new discovery.
At first, Ginko merely wondered why his ice beetle wasn’t thriving as much as those he saw out in the snow. It didn’t seem to be dying, but it never grew any bigger and its crystalline shell seemed to dull with time despite being provided with fresh snow every day.
Ginko didn’t particularly want to let it free just for it to end up eaten, so he compromised by painting its carapace with ink and setting it loose in the garden, hoping a change in appearance would be enough to deter any snowbirds nearby. His plan lasted all of two days before he watched helplessly on as a snowbird swept down and plucked it off the ground, and the blizzard that soon followed only seemed to mirror his mood.
However, the day after the storm he was greeted by a black spot crawling around the fresh snow, and he could swear it was even a little bigger than before.
Had it managed to escape?
This process was repeated several times during the span of winter, and Ginko concluded that the snowbirds weren’t eating the ice beetles to begin with. He ran a few more tests and discovered that the snowbirds essentially picked the beetles up and took them for a ride up in the clouds, causing a localised blizzard, and dropped them off after a few hours.
He surmised that the beetles drew nourishment from something high up in the sky but, since they themselves were earthbound, the only way they could get to it was with the help of the snowbirds.
If so, what were the snowbirds getting in return?
Ginko wouldn’t find out until the next winter, since both mushis disappeared overnight as spring approached.
And so he returned to the mountain hamlet well before the first snow a year later.
As predicted, the snowbirds emerged shortly after it snowed. Ginko caught one again and was surprised to discover a fat little ice grub clasped securely in its claws. He let the pair go and traced their source to one of the small burrows he’d seen the beetles digging the year prior, peering inside to discover almost half a dozen ice grubs wriggling inside. The burrow was unnaturally cold, and Ginko suspected it had stayed that way all throughout the year.
He stood back and watched as the birds returned to the burrows and left with more grubs— something he’d missed last year —again and again until the blizzard made it impossible for him to stay outside.
Continued observation of the two species throughout the winter led him to a few conclusions.
Firstly, as he suspected, the ice beetles seemed to need continued exposure to snow clouds to thrive.
Secondly, the snowbirds melted easily, being extremely sensitive to changes in temperature, and the only places cold enough for them when temperatures rose were the beetles’ burrows.
Lastly, the snowbirds and the beetles had developed keen awareness of each other, and were somehow able to communicate things like the location of their burrows and when it was time for the beetles to take to the sky again.
By the time spring came and both creatures sealed themselves underground, Ginko left town with a book full of notes and illustrations, eager to get to the Karibusa archives and cross-reference any mentions of these mushis he could find.
Perhaps he would return in a few winters to see how they were getting on.
