Free Alcatraz vs. the Shattered Lens by Brandon Sanderson Page B

the late hour, cutting bandages and boiling them in enormous vats. The sounds of blacksmiths working on weapons rang in the air. Most of the men we passed - and even many of the women - wore bandages and carried weapons. Spears with long, shark-tooth-like ridges down the sides, or swords and axes of wood, also made with shark-tooth sides.
    If you're wondering where the Mokians get all of those shark teeth, by the way, it involves using children as bait - specifically children who skip to the ends of books to read the last page first. I'm sure that you would never do something like that. That would be downright stoopiderific.
    Many of those passing waved hello to Aydee, and she waved back. Her family, the Mokian Smedrys, were well known. Eventually we approached the palace. It looked like a very large hut, constructed using thick reeds for the walls. It had a crown of red flowers blanketing its thatch roof.
    Now you're probably thinking what I am. Huts? Aren't the Mokians supposed to be one of the most learned, scientifically minded people in the Free Kingdoms? What were they doing living in huts?
    I assumed that, obviously, there was a good explanation. "So, these buildings,” I said. "They're made of special, reinforced magical reeds, I assume. They look like huts, but they're as strong as castles, right?”
    “No," Mallo said. “They're just huts.”
    “Oh. But they've got Expander’s Glass inside of them, right? They look small from the outside, but they’re enormous on the inside?"
    "No. They're just huts.”
    I frowned.
    "We like huts,” Mallo said, shrugging. "Sure, we could build skyscrapers or castles. But why? To cut ourselves off from the sky with walls of stone and steel?"
    "It makes sense," Bastille added. "Huts are more advanced than the buildings you have in the Hushlands, Smedry. Automatic air-conditioning, for one thing, and –”
    "No," Mallo said. "With all respect, young knight, we must learn to stop saying things like this. We like to pretend that what we have is better than what the Librarians have. But comparisons like those, and the jealousy they inspire, began this war in the first place."
    He looked forward, toward the palace. “We choose this life in Mokia. Not because it is 'primitive' or ‘advanced,’ but because it is what we like. The more complex the things surrounding your life become - the homes, the vehicles, the things you put in your homes and your vehicles – the more time you must spend on them. And the less time you have for thought and study."
    I blinked, shocked to hear those words coming from the mouth of the enormous, spear-wielding, war-painted Mokian. To the side, Bastille folded her arms, brooding. Her assertions that everything in the Free Kingdoms was better than things in the Hushlands had shocked me the first day we met. I had assumed that that was the way that all Free Kingdomers thought, but I was coming to realize that Bastille just has a . . . particular way of seeing the world.
    (That means that she's bonkers. But I can't write that she's bonkers, because if I do, she'll punch me. So, uh, perhaps we should forget I wrote this part, eh?)
    We reached the steps up to the palace, where a woman waited for us. She looked familiar too, though this time I could pinpoint why. She looked a lot like her sister, Bastille. Tall and slender, Angola Dartmoor was about ten years older than Bastille and wore a Mokian wrap of yellow and black with a matching flower in her hair. She carried a royal scepter of ornately carved wood.
    She was absolutely beautiful. She had long blond hair, kind of the shade of a bowl of mac and cheese. She was smiling a wide, genuine smile - which was rather the shape of a macaroni and cheese noodle. She seemed to radiate light, much like a bowl of mac and cheese might if you stuffed a lightbulb into it. Her skin was soft and squishy, like –
    Okay. Maybe I'm too hungry to be writing right now. Either way, though, Angola was gorgeous . Definitely