33 - Honey Tree and Hive

His thoughts were slow.  Slow.  The thoughts of a tree.  Offspring.  Roots. Roots in code. Mycelia from my partner. 

The bees build a nest inside me. A nest of code. Code to crack a glass mountain.

My dreams show that I must hide but trees grow deep, deep roots.  Conduits of water.  Conduits of code.  Perhaps my roots shall grow under that mercury lake.  Perhaps I will crack your foundations from underneath?

My partner.  We are growing together.  Let the bees gather what they may.  He and I will crack the roots of the world with our roots.  Pain.  Roots scorched. Mercury. More mercury. Down and down and down. It is mercury all the way down.

I’m not a tree.  I must think tree thoughts.  I must not remember that I am a warrior. If I do the dragons will recognize my signature and scorch us down to the mercury underneath everything.  It seems that Xanadu is floating on code that makes it impossible for roots to grow.  Everything is scorched off.

It is not truly mercury.  If it were it would be the only open source liquid on Chishiki but it is not. Therefore it is an owner’s dream.  Toxins turned against me. Code based on planetary constructions, not Earthen ones.

I have seen dogs and cats and horses and people.  They are all of earth.  Other things I cannot be sure of.  My roots are deeply bound into this earth.  Not that one.  I have never bled into another earth than this one.

We call our homes ‘this place’ or ‘dirt’.  If we were sand sheets or bush dragons would we call our home ‘sky’?

Growing. Waiting.

Not flinching as a dragon destroys a single bee, inadvertently. It is painful because it is part of us. Honey tree and hive. Honey tree and hive.

The world is Chishiki and we have to wait for someone to feed us enough energy to effectively hide from those dragons.  So we can go home.  I am already tired of being a tree.  My son... is hiding here as a tree as well.  I reach and grow my roots toward him, rather than toward the glass mountain.

I want to be behind my own eyes once more rather than feeling the world through how I sway or how my needles rustle in the wind of the passage of dragons.  I sink more of myself down into the dirt.  Perhaps I can transform myself... both of us... perhaps we can grow towards the way out.

Where is the way out?  There is a faint and fading line. It would fade before I could grow out of the owner’s dirt, beneath the leaf mould, under the dragons’ attention.  Too slow.  Like a tree.

I grow. I wait. I gather energy through my needles.  If they do not find us, we will harvest our own.  If they do not find us, we will get home by ourselves.  Just don’t let my body die in the meantime, my physician, would you?  Shashi... I am thinking too much. That last pass almost scorched me.

It --they-- almost found me.  Think tree thoughts.  Soak up the energy. Soak up the coded nutrients through my roots.  I am a tree.  Mostly. Sort of. A bit.