Biophilia
"I don't trust a man who makes toys in a land where children are forbidden."
--Robert Helpmann; Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
Dust.
He was covered in dust when awareness of the material world returned.
Nothing was clear. The first few seconds, Renne thought he was still dancing in the everynothing, dancing and guarding the silvertime against anything that might come at it. It had been a frightening, dazzling state. Anchored at the time, he had felt and listened and touched the silvertime, guarded it, knew it was precious.
The darknothing had roared and he had fought back.
The darknothing roared against a small, misfit legion and lost.
He remembered that, assimilated that and when the anchors snapped, Renne for a moment knew absolutely nothing. The anchors snapped, leaving a vessel flung back except he wasn't a vessel. He wasn't, in this universal placetime, with a recognisable form. Renne had known this for years, adapted as well as he could but nature was nature. His Solidity hadn't been anything extraordinary until he and Time touched.
Renne's ears didn't move like they should have, didn't move at all. His legs burned, stung, hurt, ached. Bones and flesh weren't right. His head screamed fire and his face felt crushed. His hands felt comparative to a feline getting its claws removed.
When he opened his mouth to speak, it was by shock alone that he didn't simply scream. It was his voice and it wasn't. Breathe. Relief was small but there as breathing patterns remained unchanged. The blue dust covering his skin and hair coated him, covered him as the yellow ochre on a Hindu virgin's skin.
Renne went in a partial daze, followed the Dudes to the tea shop.
He crawled like a bumbling cross betwixt a bear and a chimpanzee; his back and hips rolled erratically with the unsure, clumsy motion. This wasn't natural. This wasn't him. The few times he'd opened his mouth, that too had come as a shock. Only one row of teeth, a tongue thicker and not split or forked. His face felt like it had been crushed.
At least a smile was managed when Renne knew for sure people had come out of the dancing chaos intact.
When he was alone, still trying to explore this twisted, painful shape, he wept.
"I don't trust a man who makes toys in a land where children are forbidden."
--Robert Helpmann; Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
Dust.
He was covered in dust when awareness of the material world returned.
Nothing was clear. The first few seconds, Renne thought he was still dancing in the everynothing, dancing and guarding the silvertime against anything that might come at it. It had been a frightening, dazzling state. Anchored at the time, he had felt and listened and touched the silvertime, guarded it, knew it was precious.
The darknothing had roared and he had fought back.
The darknothing roared against a small, misfit legion and lost.
He remembered that, assimilated that and when the anchors snapped, Renne for a moment knew absolutely nothing. The anchors snapped, leaving a vessel flung back except he wasn't a vessel. He wasn't, in this universal placetime, with a recognisable form. Renne had known this for years, adapted as well as he could but nature was nature. His Solidity hadn't been anything extraordinary until he and Time touched.
Renne's ears didn't move like they should have, didn't move at all. His legs burned, stung, hurt, ached. Bones and flesh weren't right. His head screamed fire and his face felt crushed. His hands felt comparative to a feline getting its claws removed.
When he opened his mouth to speak, it was by shock alone that he didn't simply scream. It was his voice and it wasn't. Breathe. Relief was small but there as breathing patterns remained unchanged. The blue dust covering his skin and hair coated him, covered him as the yellow ochre on a Hindu virgin's skin.
Renne went in a partial daze, followed the Dudes to the tea shop.
He crawled like a bumbling cross betwixt a bear and a chimpanzee; his back and hips rolled erratically with the unsure, clumsy motion. This wasn't natural. This wasn't him. The few times he'd opened his mouth, that too had come as a shock. Only one row of teeth, a tongue thicker and not split or forked. His face felt like it had been crushed.
At least a smile was managed when Renne knew for sure people had come out of the dancing chaos intact.
When he was alone, still trying to explore this twisted, painful shape, he wept.