14 May 2012

quork: A sketch of a raven, black on white. (Default)
The thing was free. "Loose" or "amok", some might say, but perspective is a fickle thing. Matters were different here, the grasping draw of the earth's bulk less oppressive. Out here the air was thin and clear and gratifyingly motile. Perhaps it was a good thing to be out of that hole. While the mountain had been a protection for some centuries, fleshy little vertebrates had wormed their way down into the thing's lair, disturbing the silence of the ages. It was not the first time they had been drawn below; the place's distinctive energy [and free flow of the same] often attracted them. This time, however, it was not a few respectful antlings, wrapped in their dried mammal-husks, here to vibrate the air and writhe about for a few short days before creeping back upwards... this time had been different. These antlings brought metal, brought sharp-smelling earthsblood, brought sand seared into crystalline tubes and bulbous shapes. These antlings itched and burned like biting insects. They had woken the thing; gotten its attention; tried, at some point, to communicate with it -- though their thoughts were too disorganized, too alogical, to succeed; only the barest shreds of equations of to them! -- and they merely irritated, an abrasion at the periphery of the thing's awareness.

And then they had come. They spoke not true language; no, their thought-ripples were as chaotic as their antecedents', but they sang against the grain of the world, etching their personalities' signatures 'cross the weft of the cosmos, and through those grooves had the thing stretched out and spread its mind to fly...

And so it flew. Things were thinning here, at the edge of the Tellurian. Fewer particulates bouncing noisily off its carapace, though that made it harder to maneuver. Ahead of it, a void; perhaps it would prove an interesting place to explore. Perhaps there could be other beings of logic to find, out here, out here where no air pattered against the brain and where no stone crowded overhead. Perhaps it would be different.


quork: A sketch of a raven, black on white. (Default)
Croárc ná Corvain

May 2012

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