Root Meditation with Numidium

The Numidium strode forward through the many now fractures of Time, sometimes as two or four or one thousand or sometimes none, as it reached the soggy marsh waters of the southern east, which was currently unharmed by worm splitting. Numidium(s) tilts their head to the side as it crosses the borders of the marsh and is assaulted by the picture-thought-mathematics-songs of the Hist, who acknowledge his adolescent state and greet.

GREETINGS.

Numidium(s) is unaffected by the uncomplicated complicatedness of the Hist-speak, and reaches a hand downwards towards the source of the disturbance.

(EMPTY SPEECH BALLON)

GREET?

(EMPTY SPEECH BALLON)

REPEAT. GREET?

The Numidium stomps their two hundred feet as their hand comes back up with scarce traces of nothing, and narrows their eyes. Numidium(s) turn around and prepare to leave the nasty marsh waters behind.

LEAVING? NOT.

Walks-Like-Brass suddenly finds a portion of itself suddenly wrapped in the massive root system of the Hist. He rips through the fabric of time, burning and freezing and crushing the marshlands underfoot in new possibilities, but still finds itself locked in the embrace of the Hist. It turns back around, confused and angry.

(EMPTY SPEECH BALLON)

FINISHED? NO, WE.

Numidium, now only one by the anchoring of the Hist but still ranging in improbable numeric values in multiple fractures sits down in the soggy marsh waters as the Hist grows politely on the palms of its hands.

REPEAT. GREET?

…

NON-SPEAK?

(EMPTY SPEECH BALLOON)

The Hist trembles slightly and sap pours from its bark as it sighs collectively. The Numidium begins to examine the branches of the tree while staring at it with intense concentration.

WHY BREAK?

(EMPTY SPEECH BALLOON)

UN-ANSWER.

NO.

NO?

NO.

ANSWER, THEN?

…

Numidium(s) stands up and turns to face the ripped fabric of the sky which displays the constant shifting realities in it’s own pseudo existence. Beings unaffected by worm splitting stand together and watch.

AH.

(EMPTY SPEECH BALLON)

The Numidium sits back down in its previous position and brings the Hist back up to its face, and looks at it with a quizzical expression.

(EMPTY SPEECH BALLON)

UNDERSTANDS.

The Hist coils roots system around the Numidium(s)’s wrist as it grows towards the sky. There is a creaking noise as the Brass God stands up in interest, and follows the tree towards its destination that requires no movement.

THIS?

…

MAYBE.

IS THIS?

YES.

…HOW LONG?

ALWAYS.

The Numidium lowers the Hist back down into the soggy marsh waters, sitting down in the process. Massive root system recoils as Walks-Like-Brass stands up, turns around, and leaves the nasty waters and muddy marsh without much thought before stopping, and turning around to see the tops of the trees from the distance that was so near.

GREETINGS.

But by then the Hist had redrew from the fabric and laid beyond the range to hear, and so the Numidium walked off as a legion concealed inside one. But the Hist still heard it, and when the Brass Gold was gone said one thing in turn.

THANK YOU.

And the Numidium heard it too.