Scurrying into the open arena, Urs wasn’t worried even though the last shaper had been very impressive. Starting with a blossoming burst of stink, Hruz had woven the blaze into a geometric carnival. Orange lines bisected purple. Pink icosahedrons flew, surrounded by krumnok pentagons. It had been impressive and had yielded a chorus of snorts from the eauditorium.

The three judges sniffed her name in unison and Urs began. Unsheathing her four scent-shaping glands, she trickled out smell in smoky waves, interlocking in a giant ephemeral tapestry. Inwardly beaming, Urs readied to unleash what she had learned in the bogs on the other half of the world.

Tendrils morphed into lumps, rising from smog cesspools, forming into people, building homes, fighting wars. The eaudience rattled their intake glands in amazement. Urs was retelling history in stink! Wars, inventions, art—all rendered in Urs’ distinctive scent.

When she had finished, the high, long-glanded judge expelled deeply, “I smell a winner.”