Work Text:
Metal feet trudge inexhaustibly across snow covered plains, however Svarog’s pace was slower than normal to accommodate for the presence of a young girl beside him, Clara. He was keenly aware of the weak grip she had on his large finger, which had eventually moved to grab his fur jacket for warmth. Snowflakes fluttered down from above, dotting Clara’s coat with speckles of white fluff. They were making their way back to his base, or as she referred to it, “home.”
“Mr. Svarog?” A small voice called out his name beside him. She had stopped for a moment, staring at something in the distance.
“Clara,” he replied in acknowledgement. The young girl pointed at a small, glowing vein of geomarrow.
“What’s that?”
“Geomarrow, an ore solely found in the underground. It’s used as an energy source for Belobog.” He crouched down to speak to her on her level.
“Why is it only in the underground?”
“The unique metals in the metamorphic rocks that make up the underground go through geological processes, concentrating the metals and crystallizing them into geomarrow.”
“Why?”
“Rapid heating and cooling of magma or hot water due to the eternal freeze causes a build up of pressure within the metamorphic rocks, leading to the compression and concentration of the metals.”
“Why?”
There was a slight pause from Svarog.
“Elaborate. What do you wish to know?” He asked, trying to understand the basis behind her question. Clara fidgeted with the pompom on her jacket, turning it in her hands.
“I dunno,” she leaned back on her heels and looked towards the ground bashfully. Svarog stood back up without a word, taking her hand and continuing towards the robot settlement. Clara looked back at the geomarrow vein before doing a double-step to catch up to him.
“Mr. Svarog?”
“Clara.”
“What’s a meph… mephor…” she trailed off, trying to remember the word.
“Metamorphic,” Svarog reiterated.
“What’s a memorphic rock?” She picked up a small rock from the ground and looked at it, rolling it between her index and thumb. “Is this a metoric rock?”
“Metamorphic,” he said again, “it’s a rock that has changed form due to intense heat and pressure.” He briefly examined the rock she found, “that is not a metamorphic rock.” Frowning, Clara dejectedly tossed the rock onto the ground again before forgetting about it moments later.
“Is everything made from heat?”
“Not exactly.”
“How was I made?”
Silence followed her question. He felt wide, expecting eyes boring into his optical sensors, waiting for an answer.
“No comment.”