Benthic nomads on a worldwalk
It’s never quiet on the ice.
A thick snow of invisible particles sputter against our carapaces when we walk on the surface. Ice from the geysers hangs kilometres above.
We hear the twangs and pings of freezing and thawing, and distant infrasonic thunder - the subterranean groan of the world’s shell flexing as Yata pulls at the ocean beneath.
When we walk in planetshade we pick out stars - Ban, Illoma, Soridica - and in the dark we listen to their distant music.