[hr] Old Walker stood quiet on the face of the mountain, listening to a cricket chirping, and grass swishing in alpine wind. They dreamed. [i]Jvan let the current pull them as they floated, seagrass twirling between the fallen warriors below. Milky blood steamed sluggishly into the shallow blue water as it diffused over gently rolling weapons and a cloud of sand kicked up by the battle. A voice trilled, and Jvan turned to see a merman paddling towards them with his free hand. They looked curiously at the kink in his wounded fin. "Sir," he said, straining a little as he recognised his superior, "help me. Please." [colour=f6989d]"Of course,"[/colour] said Jvan, taking his head in their upper-hands as a lower-hand reached into their armour. Jvan slipped out the knife and slid it easily across the merman's throat. Their eyes met, surprised confusion beholding calm contentment as he slipped out of those pink hands, gently sinking away to join the dead. Jvan dropped the knife and looked up, the merman already forgotten. Now there was only one figure standing over the battlefield. The bodies didn't talk. An upper-hand absentmindedly felt for a latch at the back of the cuirass, pulled it. A series of mechanisms whirred and clicked open, in sequence, from back to tail-tip. Jvan slipped out of the armour and arched back, stretching until their head met their polychaete tail and formed a ring that revolved gently until it was right-way-up. It didn't occur to the kirghal that there was any reason not to be happy. The light was beautiful. The skirmish was won. None of their losses were strategically critical, and they were making good time; Jvan would rendezvous with the rest of Ceeln's army on schedule. Jvan pushed back against the current idly, long body twirling as they went, seeing first the surface, then the battlefield, then their injured war-engine to one side, then the surface again. It was all of one scene, and it had a kind of harmony. Other people never noticed this, thought Jvan. Other people look at[/i] things[i] and [/i]ideas[i] and never really see the world for what it is. (They started swimming perfect circles and figure-eights, chasing their own tail.) Blood and sand and metallic chitin armour lay scattered in the not-quite-random pattern of war. The bodies stared back at their officer and mortal foe, fists clenched, tails curled, caught forever in a single moment of perfect martial motion. A voice trilled and Jvan rolled to one side, arms awkwardly bent at their sides. They'd lost track of time. "Sir?" said the scout, another kirghal, not sure whether to be embarrassed at seeing their superior naked and dancing over a hundred corpses. [colour=f6989d]"Yes?"[/colour] said Jvan simply. "We found their encampment and cleared it, sir. There were no more Council personnel." [colour=f6989d]"Oh? Excellent,"[/colour] Jvan smiled. [colour=f6989d]"You may return to your squadron, soldier. I'll follow your signal."[/colour] "Sir, I've..." The scout glanced awkwardly at Jvan's damaged war-engine, its bioceramic armour dislocated to reveal the grey muscle below. "I've been sent to escort you." [colour=f6989d]"No need. That's just the ram mechanism. It detaches under strain to take pressure off the lubricating vessels. I can fix it."[/colour] Jvan picked up their segmented armour by the shoulder and pulled it along on their way to the massive vehicle. "...Sir, I-" [colour=f6989d]"Yes?"[/colour] "...I'll inform Commander Prrhyi of your decision, sir." [colour=f6989d]"That you will, soldier,"[/colour] said Jvan, pushing the armour roughly into a compartment. This engine had armour enough. [colour=f6989d]"You're dismissed."[/colour] They curled into the cranial cockpit and laid their hands on the control nodes. Vibrant bioluminescence lit the vehicle's interior. [/i][colour=f6989d]Of course I can fix it,[/colour][i] thought Jvan, feeling the thrum of the biomechanical war machine resonate inside them. [/i][colour=f6989d]I'm an engineer.[/colour] [i]...[/i] Old Walker turned an ancient gaze to the stars, watching the rising crescent Mirus. None of these dreams surprised them, not really. That Jvan's identity lay rooted in a past older than any of her divine incarnations had long been more than suspicion. Only the exact tune of the story was new to them now. It was not surprising, either, that Old Walker should share these Vowzrid dreams of hers. Their connection ran deep. The Sculptor was intimately aware that no one knew All-Beauty better than they, not in this universe, anyway. What [i]was[/i] unexpected was how easily they slipped out of the telepathic network and into Raka. Jvan had astonishing dominance of a psyche so vast for a consciousness so small, but... still... Things leaked... Phi manifested at Old Walker's side and they inclined their head towards her without looking. The blue glow was ghostly in the night. [colour=cornflowerblue]"You're insane, you know that?"[/colour] said the Painter quietly, simply. [colour=cornflowerblue]"I'm not even mocking you this time. You're patently demented. The psychological flexibility your Sculptor nature grants you is the only thing keeping you from picking up where you left off. The moment you let your head start making logical sense again, your life will go back to the way it was before the end."[/colour] She twirled into a falling shape. [colour=cornflowerblue]"And then you'll die."[/colour] She 'splattered' on the rock. [i]Mrrph,[/i] said Old Walker dismissively. Phi laughed. [colour=cornflowerblue]"Aw, don't be that way. Come on. We have a holy book to write down. Make yourself useful, as she put it."[/colour] Old Walker swung their neck to look at the first rays of dawn over Mount Bormahven, and began the long climb down the mountain.