Waver and Bellow

Waver went first, to show her dial.

She sang a note that slid upward, and traced a line climbing; then one that slid down, and drew a line dipping. "This dial is direction," she told Fig. "Up-sound, up-line. Down-sound, down-line. Your ears already know it — you don't have to be told which way." Fig tried humming a rising note and let his hand climb, wobbly and his own, and grinned. "But notice," Waver said, "my line goes up and down — but it doesn't say how LOUD any of it is. A tiny whisper that rises and a huge shout that rises draw the same climbing line, if all I've got is direction." She looked at Bellow. "For the loudness, you need his dial too."

Fig looked at his climbing line. "So your dial tells which way... but not how big."

"Only which way," Waver agreed. "Half the sound. The other half is his."

Then Bellow took the slate, to show his dial.

He tapped soft and drew a berry-small circle; tapped hard and drew a plate-wide one. "This dial is size," he said. "Loud wants to be big, quiet wants to be small — and you always hold the volume, we never go loud by surprise." Fig tapped gently, drew small; tapped firmer, drew bigger, shoulders easy because he held the dial. "But look," Bellow said, "my circles are big and small — but they don't say whether the sound is climbing or dipping. A big high sound and a big low sound draw the same big circle, if all I've got is size." He glanced at Waver. "For the direction, I need her dial."

Fig looked from the circles to the lines. "So YOUR dial tells how big... but not which way. And HER dial tells which way... but not how big."

"Two dials," Bellow said. "Each one's only half the sound."

Then Waver and Bellow drew a sound TOGETHER, and Fig finally saw the whole thing appear.

Waver hummed a note that climbed, and as it climbed it also swelled louder and louder — a rising siren. "Watch both dials at once," she said. Her wing traced the line rising; at the same time, Bellow's fin drew that same rising line getting THICKER and BIGGER as it climbed — a line that both went up AND grew. And there on the slate was the whole sound: not just "it went up," not just "it got big," but the complete shape of a rising, swelling siren, direction and size together.

"Oh!" Fig breathed. "It's climbing AND getting bigger — both at the same time — and now I can SEE the whole sound, not just half of it."

"That's it," Waver said. Alone, her line knew the way but not the size. Alone, Bellow's circle knew the size but not the way. But together — one dial for direction, one for size — the two of them drew the whole sound, complete. "A sound isn't just up-or-down," Bellow said. "And it isn't just big-or-small. It's both, always, at once. Turn both dials, and you've drawn the real thing."

Fig tried it himself: he hummed a note that dipped down AND got quieter, and let one hand dip while the other shrank the circle — a fading, sinking sound — and there it was, the whole shape of it, his own. "I drew a WHOLE sound," he whispered.