Jan and Peg are bouncing in the roiling waters of a volcanic abscess and checking in. Their thoughts turn reflective as the redundant suns set once again, and as always, forming shapes and colors that no one could ever predict. Because their throats are mostly meant for swallowing, Peg and Jan communicate now, beneath the roaring of LaMthyuh, in a way that's becoming more natural to them: with their minds only.
Whut do you mean? they make incense with our shit
No, i know, but it's hate, i can feel it ery day
Right, that's why they need us, we make them feel as one
They are as one with hate
They are as one with hate, as one with nature, as one with you and me
I'm not even comfortable with the pronoun they because
Because it lends itself to a crass categorization of peoples?
Mmhm, ok
Phyliss [embedded]
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