Tree had been right, nestled into the side of the great hill, with the neon sun smeared across the clouds and snowy stretches alike, it was not so cold today. It looked like being up a mountain high in the sky, the snow stretched out beneath like clouds and the other clouds above obscured the rising sun just enough to make it look like a neon orb. The hill had always seemed like a mountain to cloud, but then, he had never seen mountains. The illusion created by the lumpy, snowy plains was unbroken, even by evidence of his own people; as it should be. It was like actually being a cloud. He felt safe here. He felt like he was properly following the teachings of his mother.
“Mother?”, he had asked one day, “Why am I Cloud? Why are we named after human words, after the word concepts human's give to natural things?”
“You are cloud, because I am Sky, because your father is Water. Because that is what we must be to the others. That is what we must be in the world