kawa~ inspiration #51
Apr. 30th, 2005 01:48 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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yrae
Title~ All in a Day's Work
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ It's all~ mine
Notes~ kawa~ inspiratio 51. I'm sure someone out there has been wondering, so here's a bit of an explanation of how the hell Tsayth survives when their fresh water supply only flows for two or three months of the year, if that.
~ ~ ~
Thiras rested back against one of the glass domes of Tsayth’s most complicated but certainly most necessary of constructions—the distillery, purifying undrinkable salt water of the ocean to something pure and delicious. Even the smallest of Tsaythi land villages had at least one dome, but Ryas, the kingdom’s capital, had fifty-three, with plans for another well on the way.
Sea water was poured by the bucketful into a trough, where it would then flow into a large tub built from stone, ten paces in diameter and reaching waist height. The glittering glass dome that so characterised a Tsaythi settlement arched over the tub, dripping with fresh evaporated water that trickled into the rim around the tub’s inner edge, down a long steel pipe and finally into the underground reservoir that held the city’s fresh water reserves.
When the water had all evaporated, it was Thiras’ job to crawl through the small doorway in the side of the tub and shovel all the salt out so it could be filled up with sea water once more.
The most recent tub emptied, she now rested back against the dome, mopping sweat from her brow. Those domes were designed to be made as hot as possible, and even now, in the relative cool of the late afternoon, the inside of the glass distiller was unbearable for any longer than a few minutes.
Thiras was exhausted. Traditionally, everyone working at the distillery envied every other job but their own, and Thiras was no exception, but she was able to form her opinions with experience. Certainly carting bucket-loads of water from the ocean to the troughs was tiring and painful enough, not to mention the persistent sunlight glaring down from overhead, but at least there was a chance of a sea breeze out there, or the opportunity to dunk oneself in the ocean every few minutes. In the domes there was no such relief.
She mopped her brow with her already dripping bandana, wondering vaguely how many buckets of fresh water she’d effectively produced sweating in the dome and relishing the feel of moving air on her skin. She ignored all the water-carriers who shot envious glares at her out the corner of their eyes. Let them envy her, she knew who had the more desirable task.
With her work finished for the day, Thiras made her way to the bone-dry riverbed. If it was going to this year, it would start flowing in under a month. This potentially bountiful supply certainly didn’t mean operations at the distillery would be shut down, only that they would carry water from the river instead, thereby dramatically cutting down on Thiras’ work load. Salt didn’t build up half as much with river water in place of sea water.
She sighed heavily, tying her bandana back around her head as she cast her eyes upstream.
“Please flow this year,” she murmured, then retired to her home.
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ It's all~ mine
Notes~ kawa~ inspiratio 51. I'm sure someone out there has been wondering, so here's a bit of an explanation of how the hell Tsayth survives when their fresh water supply only flows for two or three months of the year, if that.
Thiras rested back against one of the glass domes of Tsayth’s most complicated but certainly most necessary of constructions—the distillery, purifying undrinkable salt water of the ocean to something pure and delicious. Even the smallest of Tsaythi land villages had at least one dome, but Ryas, the kingdom’s capital, had fifty-three, with plans for another well on the way.
Sea water was poured by the bucketful into a trough, where it would then flow into a large tub built from stone, ten paces in diameter and reaching waist height. The glittering glass dome that so characterised a Tsaythi settlement arched over the tub, dripping with fresh evaporated water that trickled into the rim around the tub’s inner edge, down a long steel pipe and finally into the underground reservoir that held the city’s fresh water reserves.
When the water had all evaporated, it was Thiras’ job to crawl through the small doorway in the side of the tub and shovel all the salt out so it could be filled up with sea water once more.
The most recent tub emptied, she now rested back against the dome, mopping sweat from her brow. Those domes were designed to be made as hot as possible, and even now, in the relative cool of the late afternoon, the inside of the glass distiller was unbearable for any longer than a few minutes.
Thiras was exhausted. Traditionally, everyone working at the distillery envied every other job but their own, and Thiras was no exception, but she was able to form her opinions with experience. Certainly carting bucket-loads of water from the ocean to the troughs was tiring and painful enough, not to mention the persistent sunlight glaring down from overhead, but at least there was a chance of a sea breeze out there, or the opportunity to dunk oneself in the ocean every few minutes. In the domes there was no such relief.
She mopped her brow with her already dripping bandana, wondering vaguely how many buckets of fresh water she’d effectively produced sweating in the dome and relishing the feel of moving air on her skin. She ignored all the water-carriers who shot envious glares at her out the corner of their eyes. Let them envy her, she knew who had the more desirable task.
With her work finished for the day, Thiras made her way to the bone-dry riverbed. If it was going to this year, it would start flowing in under a month. This potentially bountiful supply certainly didn’t mean operations at the distillery would be shut down, only that they would carry water from the river instead, thereby dramatically cutting down on Thiras’ work load. Salt didn’t build up half as much with river water in place of sea water.
She sighed heavily, tying her bandana back around her head as she cast her eyes upstream.
“Please flow this year,” she murmured, then retired to her home.