High above the clouds rode Thaddeus Piper in what he called his "sky craft", billows of steam erupting forth from various areas of the machine. Pipes and horns adorned the monstrous mechanism made by this man—it was his child; his creation. It was a blimp-of-sorts—a large balloon upon a basket that was elongated. Windows festooned upon either side granted all who would transverse within the cloud cart a gorgeous view of the cloud tops. Rays of light burst forth from the sun, enlightening the clouds to become golden in color. These gold nuggets rose and fell, enticing the eye and enchanting the mind. Sadly, only two were in this cloud ferry, and that happened to be Thaddeus and Mr. Bear—a teddy bear with the capacity of thought and capability of movement due to steam. Miles above Sirantil Valley traveled the man with a bear, his peppered mustache quirking with excitement—this would be the first time he had flown such a great distance. All the mathematical equations and time spent preparing for such a task had worn heavily on the man's sleeping schedule; who could possibly sleep with such a plan? Liver colored lips pursed as he leaned forward to stare out at sea of gold, bifocals brightening in the sun's outreaching arms. Before the basket case was a large diagram of the Sirantil Valley—its environmental geography marked specifically for the flattest plane location. Various numbers nestled upon the edges of this navigators map told of how much probability there would be of him landing successfully...
The ultimate percentage was forty-five...
Once more those outrageous whiskers would quiver with glee, a gaiety abundant in the air. "We're preparing for a landing Mr. Bear." Mr. Bear—whose first name was Stanley—snapped to attention, granting a salute in the direction of the Commanding Officer. With a charming about face, the little bear hoped from a stool and sauntered over to a rod small enough for his paws. Black, beady eyes stared up at the whiskered man, awaiting orders. Perspiration dotted the man's face as he leaned forward and stared out the gleaming glass, a salmon colored tongue rolling over liver colored lips. "Ready... steady..." Stanley Bear grasped the rod, furry little paws sinking into the cool metal. "Pull Mr. Bear, pull!" with all his tiny might that stuffed animal pulled—and the lever moved. There was a click and hiss as steam erupted forth from the various nozzles, pipes, and horns—a resounding roar rolling over the valley below. Descending from the clouds, Pipes proclaimed:
"Down, down we go... if we die, we do not know!"
Mr. Bear did not approve of such a statement, but without lips he could not voice his opinion. Air rumbled passed the bulk of the balloon as they tumbled through the stratosphere and into the troposphere. Clouds thinned as they neared the greenery of the Sirantil Valley, awe was worn upon the face with the view of Eden. Steam ruptured from the great balloon, coloumns of vapors writhing and merging with the clouds above. Great wheels crashed down, and the "sky craft" bounced once, twice and then began to roll. Grass sprayed forth from the bottom of the wheels, and it began to slow as locks crashed down upon the wooden circles. All movement ceased from the steam ferry as it rocked in place, an exhasperated hiss escaping its being as if it sighed.
"We've made it Mr. Bear!" Stanley the Bear snapped to attention and offered a salute.
