Way far away, long and far beyond the Hinterlands that lie long and far beyond the Outliers, where the galaxy flings the great spiral edge of its trailing Rim into the deep, dark, cold, stark, black emptiness of the interstellar Void, that's where the Stardogs live.
Of course, they aren't exactly dogs, and they certainly aren't stars, and they don't quite live, but Stardogs they're called and Stardogs they are, and that's where you can find them, if they want to be found. Now some of them are blue, and some are white, and some are yellow, and some, those who are very very old, are a deep dark hot sullen fiery red.
Now this particular Stardog had a great-grandfather who was almost older than Time, and very dark and glowing red. But she herself was blue, so bright she was almost white, and like all bright, fierce, shining things, she was very lambently flickeringly alive, always dancing in ever-changing circles around her slow, sullen great-grandfather and making him dizzy.
One fine day ... well, it wasn't exactly a day, of course, because there aren't any days in the place where the Stardogs dance, the place where the stars spray out against the emptiness just so and the galaxy leans just there, but it was once in the starry night that never ends, oh, one time this Stardog danced so quickly and so brightly that her great-grandfather said to her:
"Go away; you are making me so tired I shall go out of the dance altogether if you bother me any more. Go away, silly Stardog, and leave me alone."
Now this wasn't the first or even the hundredth and first time that her great-grandfather had said that to her. Usually she went and hid herself in the blue and white and black dust of the nebular cloud that was on the other side of the comets' running place. All the dust hid her brightness and her old, dark great-grandfather couldn't see her, and soon, oh usually very soon, he'd be calling her name until she sprang out of the nebula and laughed and laughed.
But this time, oh, this time, Stardog decided to do just what her great-grandfather had said and go away. "I'll go far away," she said, "and I'll see all the Galaxy, all the way to the leading edge, and I won't come back till I choose. And then he'll be sorry."
So Stardog turned her back on the great empty Void and danced towards the hot, bright, star-filled galactic Core. She danced here and she danced there, and she danced wherever she felt like dancing, because that's what Stardogs do. And they never, never, never dance in a straight line, because the stars curve space and Stardogs like to slide on the curves. So Stardog danced and danced and danced some more, and she didn't think about her great-grandfather, oh, not for a long, long time. And she didn't pay much attention to where she was going, because, after all, Stardogs can always find their way back home, back to where the stars spray out against the emptiness just so.
But Stardog had never ever in all her young but so-long life been away from the spinning galaxy's great spattery scattery Rim. And she didn't realise that Coreward the stars were smeary and bleary, thick in the sky, filling all the six directions at once. Stars were over her head and under her feet, and stars were before her and behind her, and stars were to her left and to her right. In fact, there were stars everywhere she looked; nowhere was there the slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the Rim. Only stars, and although they were very, very beautiful.....
Stardog was lost.
Oh yes, for certain Stardog was lost in the stars and she didn't know how to get back to the place on the sweet scattery Rim where the other Stardogs were dancing without her. And so she sat down on a great planet's little moon and cried.
But even a Stardog can't cry forever, so in a while she stopped. And then she looked around her, to all six directions, over her head and under her feet, before her and behind her, to her left and to her right. And then she said, "Well. I could stay here forever, I guess, but that wouldn't be any fun. There isn't anybody to dance with and there isn't anybody to talk with and there isn't anybody to play with." And after another while she added, "And there isn't my old red great-grandfather, either..."
So she looked all around her again, and then she stood up and she said, "I must go home." And she closed her eyes and spun herself, as only a Stardog can spin, around and around and around, in all six directions and the places in between those directions. And as she spun, she sang the old, oldest Stardog song: "Round and round and round she goes and where she stops, oh, oh! nobody knows." And when she had sung it six times, once for each of the six galactic directions, for Above and Below, for Coreward and Rimward, for Spinward and Trailing, she stopped. And then she took a deep breath, although it wasn't exactly a breath because Stardogs don't exactly breathe, and followed her nose.
And soon, or maybe not soon, for time is different out between the stars, but after a while, Stardog found herself near a tangled system of six stars, stars that curved space beautifully and most complexly around them, and which had called to themselves a wondrous group of planets and asteroids. And among all the curves lived some serpents, serpents of flaming red and green and white sinuosities and loops that slid on the curves between the stars and sang to each other in words of flame.
And when the serpents saw Stardog, they paused a moment in their sliding and their singing, and then they sang to her.
"What are you?" they sang. "What are you and what do you do, that you have come here to our six stars and their curves?"
"I am a Stardog," she said, "and I dance."
"Have you come here to dance?" they sang.
"No," she said sadly, "though I will dance with you if you like."
"Dance with us, Stardog," they sang, "dance with us among our six stars on the curves and the loops."
And Stardog danced, and the serpents danced alongside her, twisting around her and singing intricate harmonies. And the singing and fiery curves made her think of home, where the other Stardogs sang as they danced, and the stars splashed out across the void in curves of light.
"Why have you stopped, Stardog?" sang the serpents. "Dance on, Stardog, dance on! Be not so sad! Dance on!"
"I am sad because I am lost, and I am trying to find my way back to my home beside the slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the Rim. Do you know where that is?" she asked.
"No, Stardog, no," the serpents sang. "We have never left our own six stars, for we have all we need here. We do not know where lies the Rim or the Void or your home."
And Stardog hung her head and felt very sorry for herself.
And the great serpents that lived in the curves among the six stars sang to her in words of sweet fire, "Stardog, oh Stardog! Why must you travel on? Why don't you stay here, where our stars curve space into strange shapes and where you can dance a new dance with each great rotation, and we will dance beside you forever and forever?"
"No," said Stardog. "No, I can't. I must find the place where all the Stardogs dance, on the sweet scattery Rim where the stars spray out against the emptiness just so and the galaxy leans just there, and my own old red great-grandfather is waiting and calling me."
And Stardog went on her way, for she missed her home. But she remembered the red and green and white blazing of the star serpents, and the sweet fire of their singing, and she was glad she had met them. And she thought to herself, "I will make a new dance for them when I come again to my home beside the slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the Rim." And then she thought, "Oh, but when, when, will that be?"
And then she stopped, and she shook herself, and she told herself to be brave and look in front of her, and she took a deep breath, although it wasn't exactly a breath because Stardogs don't exactly breathe, and followed her nose.
And soon, or maybe not soon, for time is different out between the stars, but after a while, Stardog found herself near a nebula, a great cloud of dusty stars, like the one she hid in at home. And she thought she'd rest a while, and try to remember how to get home. So she danced toward the nebula, and then tried to dance into it.
Oh! But it wasn't a nebula, it wasn't a great dim cloud in which she could hide and watch the young stars begin to be. It wasn't a dusty, musty, darkly shiny nebula at all. It was something strange and new to Stardog, something big and old and slow and not at all happy that a Stardog had run into it.
"What are you?" it asked. "What are you and what do you do, that you have come here to bother me?"
"I am a Stardog," she said, "and I dance."
"Have you come here to dance?" it said.
"No," she said sadly, "though I will dance with you if you like."
"I am too old to dance," it said, "though I would very much like to see you dance, young Stardog."
So Stardog began to dance, and after a while, the old slow thing began to glow more brightly, and then it began to dance along with her. And when Stardog saw it dancing, stiff and slow, she thought of her old, stiff, red great-grandfather, who still danced every day among the stars, and she felt very sad and alone, and she stopped dancing.
"Why have you stopped dancing, Stardog? Why are you so sad?"
"I am sad because I am lost, and I am trying to find my way back to my home beside the slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the Rim. Do you know where that is?" she asked.
And the old thing said, sadly, "Oh, Stardog, I am so old I do not even know where this place is. I do not know the Void or the Rim or where the Stardogs live."
And Stardog hung her head and felt very sorry for herself.
And the old slow thing said to her, "Oh, Stardog, stay here, stay and give me a name and teach me to dance, and I will be young and quick again with you forever and forever."
"No," said Stardog. "No, I can't. I must find the place where all the Stardogs dance, on the sweet scattery Rim where the stars spray out against the emptiness just so and the galaxy leans just there, and my own old red great-grandfather is waiting and calling me."
And Stardog went on her way, for she missed her home. But she remembered the old slow thing, and the kindness of its words and the sadness of its heart, and she was glad she had met it. And she thought to herself, "I will make a new dance for it when I come again to my home beside the slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the Rim." And then she thought, "Oh, but when, when, will that be?"
And then she stopped, and she shook herself, and she told herself to be brave and look in front of her, and she took a deep breath, although it wasn't exactly a breath because Stardogs don't exactly breathe, and followed her nose.
And soon, or maybe not soon, for time is different out between the stars, but after a while, Stardog found herself at a comets' running ground, the great elliptical course they run around their star, becoming brighter and hairier and then smaller and sleeker, and always, always, laughing as they run. And this running ground had dozens of little comets, young and full of energy, their courses tight and swift around their big blue star.
"What are you, what are you?" they called, unafraid, for comets are afraid of nothing. "What are you, strange traveler, and what do you do?"
"I am a Stardog," she said, "and I dance."
"Have you come here to dance?" they said.
"No," she said sadly, "though I will dance with you if you like."
And all the little comets shouted, "Yes! Dance with us, dance with us as we run our race around the star."
And so Stardog danced with the comets as they ran their course, and it made her think with wistfulness about her own home and the comets that ran between her hiding place and the dancing grounds of the Stardogs, and her dance grew slow and sad.
"Why are you slowing, Stardog?" asked the comets. "Why are you sad?"
"I am sad because I am lost, and I am trying to find my way back to my home beside the slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the Rim. Do you know where that is?" she asked.
But the little comets said, shaking their wild hairy heads, "Oh, Stardog, we're so sorry for you. But we never leave our running ground, our home; it's all we need or know."
And Stardog hung her head and felt very sorry for herself.
And all the little comets spun around her in a dizzying dazzling dance and they sang, "Stardog, sweet Stardog, stay here with us and dance with us and be our friend forever and forever."
"No," said Stardog. "No, I can't. I must find the place where all the Stardogs dance, on the sweet scattery Rim where the stars spray out against the emptiness just so and the galaxy leans just there, and my own old red great-grandfather is waiting and calling me."
And Stardog went on her way, for she missed her home. But she remembered the dizzying swirl of the little comets, and the spinning of their race, and she was glad she had met them. And she thought to herself, "I will make a new dance for them when I come again to my home beside the slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the Rim." And then she thought, "Oh, but when, when, will that be?"
And then she stopped, and she shook herself, and she told herself to be brave and look in front of her, and she took a deep breath, although it wasn't exactly a breath because Stardogs don't exactly breathe, and followed her nose.
And soon, or maybe not soon, for time is different out between the stars, but after a while, Stardog found herself in a skirling swirl of stars, thickening as it spilled along the Galaxy. And in the swirl of stars flew a starskimmer, a being Stardogs sang songs about but which she had never seen before. The starskimmer banked and circled her, balancing on the solar winds that blew between the stars.
"What are you?" called the skimmer. "What are you, what do you do, and where do you go when the starwinds blow?"
"I am a Stardog," she said, "and I dance."
"Have you come here to dance?" it asked "Did you come to dance here, where the starbeams glance, where the light is clear?"
"No," she said sadly, "though I will dance with you if you like."
"Dance, then, Stardog," it said, "and I will make a song on your dance, and for its sake I'll carry you through dark and bright as long as the winds blow currents of light."
And Stardog danced and the starskimmer flew in circles about her singing praise of her dance, but in a while Stardog faltered, for she missed the companions that used to dance with her instead of around her.
"Why have you stopped dancing, and why are you sad when all about us is such beauty and your heart should be glad?"
"I am sad because I am lost, and I am trying to find my way back to my home beside the slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the Rim. Do you know where that is?" she asked.
"Oh, no, Stardog! No!" cried the starskimmer. "Starskimmers never go near the Rim where the stars are few, for the starwinds don't blow where the star count is low, and we live where the winds blow through."
And Stardog hung her head and felt very sorry for herself.
And the starskimmer said, "Stardog, come with me. We will fly to the Core together, and when I rest you can dance and we can travel so forever."
"No," said Stardog. "No, I can't. I must find the place where all the Stardogs dance, on the sweet scattery Rim where the stars spray out against the emptiness just so and the galaxy leans just there, and my own old red great-grandfather is waiting and calling me."
And Stardog went on her way, for she missed her home. But she remembered the swift swoops and dives of the starskimmer, and the wonder of the places it had been and the sweet sound of its plans, and she was glad she had met it. And she thought to herself, "I will make a new dance for it when I come again to my home beside the slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the Rim." And then she thought, "Oh, but when, when, will that be?"
And then she stopped, and she shook herself, and she told herself to be brave and look in front of her, and she took a deep breath, although it wasn't exactly a breath because Stardogs don't exactly breathe, and followed her nose.
And soon, or maybe not soon, for time is different out between the stars, but after a while, Stardog found herself in amongst many clouds of dust and gases, blazing in many, many colors. Here was the place where stars were born, and where they gather their planets, and comets find them and build their running grounds. Though here were yet no planets or comets, but only little glows, as yet barely stars.
"Who are you," came a multitude of whispers from the clouds, "who are you, traveler? Are you a comet, and do you run? Who are you and what do you do?"
"I am a Stardog," she said, "and I dance."
"Have you come here to dance?" they said.
"No," she said sadly, "though I will dance for you if you like."
"Dance for us, Stardog," they said, "dance among our clouds, for we have seen nothing as beautiful as you."
And Stardog danced. But the clouds were too empty, and space was too flat, and she missed her friends and family, and soon she slowed her dance and soon she stopped, and she sighed.
"Why did you stop, Stardog?" asked the whisperers between the clouds, "and why do you look so sad?"
"I am sad because I am lost, and I am trying to find my way back to my home beside the slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the Rim. Do you know where that is?" she asked.
"Oh, no," they called in small voices just louder than whispers, "oh, no. We know only here, in these clouds, where we have always been."
And Stardog hung her head and felt very sorry for herself.
And all the whisperers between the clouds said to her, "Why don't you stop your roving, Stardog? Why don't you end your journey here, where it's bright and young and yet still empty, and you can dance forever and ever, here among these young stars, and we will watch you?"
"No," said Stardog. "No, I can't. I must find the place where all the Stardogs dance, on the sweet scattery Rim where the stars spray out against the emptiness just so and the galaxy leans just there, and my own old red great-grandfather is waiting and calling me."
And Stardog went on her way, for she missed her home. But she remembered the whispers of the dwellers between the clouds, and the kindness of their offer, and she was glad she had met them. And she thought to herself, “I will make a new dance for them when I come again to my home beside the slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the Rim." And then she thought, "Oh, but when, when, will that be?"
And then she stopped, and she shook herself, and she told herself to be brave and look in front of her, and she took a deep breath, although it wasn't exactly a breath because Stardogs don't exactly breathe, and followed her nose.
And soon, or maybe not soon, for time is different out between the stars, but after a while, Stardog found herself near a large nebula, all dark and twisted and full of dark stars, dead and dying and very cold. And Stardog shivered because, although it's always cold in the places between the stars, and colder still on the Rim beside the Void, the cold of a stars' dying place is cold enough to chill even a Stardog's blood, which is warm even if it's not exactly blood. And as she made her way around the dark and cold, she heard a whisper. This whisper was not like the whisperers in the clouds whom she had met before. This whisper was a dark, cold whisper; it came out of a shadow between two dying stars and it made her blood grow even colder.
"What are you," whispered the shadow, "what are you, strange traveler, for never in my many years, which number cycles of the galaxy, have I seen such as you? What are you?"
"I am a Stardog," she said, "and I dance."
"Have you come here to dance?" the shadow whispered.
"No," she said sadly, "though I will dance for you if you like."
"There is no point in dancing, Stardog," whispered the shadow, "for dancing burns energy and here there is none, here there is only quiet and rest and silence. Why have you come here, dancing Stardog?"
"I am here because I am lost, and I am trying to find my way back to my home beside the slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the Rim. Do you know where that is?" she asked.
And the shadow whispered, "Oh, no, Stardog; once long ago I roamed the Galaxy, but never did I see a Rim or Void. Such things are not important here, where all is dark and peace and quiet. I do not know of them."
And Stardog hung her head and felt very sorry for herself.
And the great dark shadow whispered, so soft and sweet and shadowy, "Oh Stardog, strayed Stardog, cease your endless journey. You'll never find others like yourself, and you will roam forever, lost and alone. Stay here, little Stardog, lost Stardog, stay here and sleep forever and forever and be at rest."
"No," said Stardog. "No, I can't. I must find the place where all the Stardogs dance, on the sweet scattery Rim where the stars spray out against the emptiness just so and the galaxy leans just there, and my own old red great-grandfather is waiting and calling me."
And Stardog went on her way. But oh! she was tired and afraid, and she missed her home. And when she remembered the promises of the shadow, and the quiet place below the darkness, she hurried even faster. And she thought to herself, "I will never, ever go away again when I finally got back to my home beside the slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the Rim." And then she thought, "Oh, but when, when, will that be?"
And then she stopped, and she shook herself, and she told herself to be brave and look in front of her, and she took a deep breath, although it wasn't exactly a breath because Stardogs don't exactly breathe, and followed her nose.
And soon, or maybe not soon, for time is different out between the stars, but after a while, Stardog found herself where the stars were growing thin in space and great streaky patches of darkness were reaching their fingers into the Galaxy, and far, far ahead of her was sweet beloved blackness. And Stardog's heart leapt for joy within her and she forgot the darkness and how tired she was and how afraid.
And then, oh! then Stardog saw before her the stars spray out against the emptiness just so and the galaxy lean just there, in the wonderful slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the sweet, scattery Rim, and the great grey-white dusty, blue-black musty cloud of her very own nebula, and wild bright hairy comets running ever so fast, and best of all her own great-grandfather, all dark and fiery and glowing and hot and calling her, just as she had known he would be.
And Stardog leapt for joy, and called back, and even for a moment ceased to dance, running as hard as ever she could run, lost no longer, home at last.
And oh! the dances she danced for her great-grandfather, amidst the comets and clouds, there where the stars splash out against the sky. She danced for the serpents, a dance of graceful slidings; she danced for the old nameless thing, a dance of wisdom and sorrow; she danced a wild, dashing dance for the little racing comets and she danced a swift, circling dance for the beautiful star skimmer; and she danced a new dance for the whisperers, a quiet dance of beginnings. And all the other Stardogs gathered round and danced with her, and her heart was full of joy.
In fact, if you can find the place where all the Stardogs dance, way far away, long and far beyond the Hinterlands that lie long and far beyond the Outliers, then you'll find her, dancing her new dances, among the racing comets and the blue and white nebular cloud, and always ever so kind to her old, red great-grandfather, that only once or maybe twice in the time it takes the comets to run their race does she make him dizzy... But never, ever has she gone away again from her home beside the slashy splashy black of the Void beyond the sweet and scattery Rim.
And she never will.
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