There's still those little echoes of distant pain and despair, connected to July. She doesn't understand it in detail but could infer it had to do with the vicious fighting of earlier. What had somehow driven their kind to fight each other, to the cost of entire cities? What city could thrive without plants there?
July is quiet, she acknowledges, not precisely pleased with the information. What happened there? She'd find out ... sooner or later. Now it wasn't very important to do so, there were other matters to attend. But I can reach .. a few. Not as many as there should be. We are in Augusta, November. I don't know this town, but it has a windmill. And ... others, further out, but not like us.
Not the clear sharp minds of alert, sapient creatures. Intelligent in their own way, but different, noticeably different, even across the long relay of minds to reach them. Was communication really that strange here? Who spoke for the voiceless, if they couldn't speak for themselves?
A concern to worry about later as well, when she solidified her reach a little and could discuss better with her kin what was going on and what to do. Humans were prey long before they were hunters, and part of their instincts never forgot it. New things are frightening and dangerous. Her smile is brief and a little sad. But they can adjust, with time. The humans I know are not as afraid of a plant's nature, but they knew us like this from their smallest days.
Vash needed to find humans that were used to the idea, so he didn't have to hide. How could pretending one's whole life be comfortable, or good for the mind and heart?
But what if people WERE dying? Her wings snap closed, and she takes a big breath. Philosophy wasn't her strong suit, but she understood being driven to help. It would make her find somewhere to settle down, sooner or later. They all felt it. And if they are? Life ends, eventually. Even for us. Maybe a sandstorm will come and bury a town, maybe my bulb will break. Maybe. But thinking about it all the time doesn't help. Don't worry about the ones you can't reach, worry about the ones you can. There is enough hardship in life without borrowing more about what we can't hope to affect. There are lives here that can use a friendly hand, and their lives are worth something too. She looks around at the barren emptiness. We can't always help where we're seeded, but we can grow there all the same. There are plenty to help within reach if we look a little.
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July is quiet, she acknowledges, not precisely pleased with the information. What happened there? She'd find out ... sooner or later. Now it wasn't very important to do so, there were other matters to attend. But I can reach .. a few. Not as many as there should be. We are in Augusta, November. I don't know this town, but it has a windmill. And ... others, further out, but not like us.
Not the clear sharp minds of alert, sapient creatures. Intelligent in their own way, but different, noticeably different, even across the long relay of minds to reach them. Was communication really that strange here? Who spoke for the voiceless, if they couldn't speak for themselves?
A concern to worry about later as well, when she solidified her reach a little and could discuss better with her kin what was going on and what to do. Humans were prey long before they were hunters, and part of their instincts never forgot it. New things are frightening and dangerous. Her smile is brief and a little sad. But they can adjust, with time. The humans I know are not as afraid of a plant's nature, but they knew us like this from their smallest days.
Vash needed to find humans that were used to the idea, so he didn't have to hide. How could pretending one's whole life be comfortable, or good for the mind and heart?
But what if people WERE dying? Her wings snap closed, and she takes a big breath. Philosophy wasn't her strong suit, but she understood being driven to help. It would make her find somewhere to settle down, sooner or later. They all felt it. And if they are? Life ends, eventually. Even for us. Maybe a sandstorm will come and bury a town, maybe my bulb will break. Maybe. But thinking about it all the time doesn't help. Don't worry about the ones you can't reach, worry about the ones you can. There is enough hardship in life without borrowing more about what we can't hope to affect. There are lives here that can use a friendly hand, and their lives are worth something too. She looks around at the barren emptiness. We can't always help where we're seeded, but we can grow there all the same. There are plenty to help within reach if we look a little.