In the moment, Symeon bunched his hands into fists at his sides. Istroama, while seeming a decent fellow, was still very much a stranger to Symeon. The casual speculation as to the results his death would bring was cause for alarm, though Symeon saw no malice in Istroama as he said it. He unclenched his hands and let the matter pass. Instead, he began pacing back and forth on the damp sand as he considered all of Istroama’s statements. “So how sure are ya about these people bein’ frozen?”

“Oh, I’m quite sure, but I understand your concern. A correct theory withstands the rigors of experimentation.” Istroama rolled up the sleeves on his robe, not noticing that they flopped right back down as he walked up to the nearest chrysalis. Before Symeon could react Istroama had seized the top of the long crystal and started pulling.

“Hey. Hey! Yeah, naw, don’t…” Symeon trailed off to watch bemusedly. Istroama was struggling mightily against the crystal, wrestling back and forth with gasps and grunts. The chrysalis sat unmoving, despite his efforts. After a minute of this, Istroama walked back over to Symeon while shaking the gathered sand from his feet and hands.

“Not a conclusive test, but certainly indicative. There’s still the possibility that some temporal or environmental factors could be involved, but I see no evidence that would support that.”

Symeon sighed and ran his hand over his hairless scalp. “That coulda gone bad, ya know. I mean, we don’t actually know what’s in these things. What if some bloodthirsty murder-beast came out?”

Istroama’s response to this concern was cut short by his strangled gasp. Both hands came up to his face to cover his nose as he groaned. “What is THAT?”

Symeon was struck by the same problem almost immediately. The wind had shifted, revealing the ravaged Shambler up the beach was still shatteringly pungent. Symeon reached into his pocket for the flower petals and brought them to his face, gesturing to Istroama to do likewise. After some confused hesitation Istroama retrieved his own collection of petals to cover his nose. “Oh, that is so much better, friend Symeon. I thought we were under some sort of Air-based assault, but I couldn’t see any workings.”

“It’s just rot. Well, not just rot. That thing over there’s been stinkin’ since I woke up. Don’t worry ‘bout it too much. Yer nose tunes it out after a bit.”

“Well, that’s something of a relief. Anyway, to your point. The flows I see inside those chrysalises are fairly similar to your own, which in turn are markedly different from your Flappy.”

“It’s not MY Flappy.”

Istroama dismissed this with a vague wave of his free hand. “It would have been helpful to have more than your singular example and Flappy’s remains to compare against. Regardless, I’m confident the people contained within are, in fact, people.”

“So the question is, do we let ‘em out?”

“I’m shocked that’s even a question. Of course! We must expedite their release with all haste!”

“Yeah, naw. Comes back ta the big three. Three hours without shelter, three days without water, three weeks without food. Right now, you ‘n me got a ton of work to do, because we got nothin’. The ones in those chrysalises are frozen. They’re not gonna be grubbin’ around tryin’ to lick mornin’ dew off of leaves the way we’re gonna be. Might help ta have more hands to work, but that also means more mouths to feed.”

“Ah. I assume you don’t mean forming more hands and mouths? I mean, we wouldn’t HAVE to make mouths as well. That’d just be silly.”

Symeon shook his head with a rueful smile. “No one’s changin’ shape, flying-magic-blob-guy. This is what we got now. We need ta figure out if there’s enough forage ta feed us before we drop anyone else in the same mess.”

Istroama looked over at the glittering crystals with evident stress. “We’re coming back, though. Once we can meet these three rules of yours, you’ll let these people go?”

“Not my rules, just reality. Yeah, we’re not leaving these people locked up. Worst case scenario, if I die they all get out anyway, yeah? Yeah.” Symeon hesitated at the thought. “Let’s call that Plan B though.”

“Do we have a Plan A?”, Istroama asked with a blend of curiosity and concern.

“Not dyin’.”

Istroama nodded at this. “Fair enough. I fear I am unfamiliar with the details of how to avoid death in this form. I trust I can rely on your judgement and guidance on the matter.”

“No worries buddy, we got this. Let’s get outta here. Might be able to dig up some molluscs or somethin’ on this beach, but that won’t do us much good without fire. That river is a good bet, so’s the greenery, so we’ll head thatta way.”

Before getting underway, Symeon took another look around the area, on the off chance he’d forgotten something. His gaze fell on Flappy, and on the crystal lid that had been instrumental in defeating the horrid thing. Carefully picking his way among the chrysalises, Symeon lifted the lid. It was remarkably light for this size, and endured the crushing stomps he’d laid into it without so much as a fracture. It was also easily two meters long and a meter wide, making it unwieldy despite the lack of weight. On a hunch Symeon gave the item his full consideration, and to his satisfaction information about it came to his mind. Manifest Chrysalis Lid. No mention of duration or durability.

With a contemplative hum he examined the lid from the chrysalis he believed he had emerged from. It was a Branded Chrysalis Lid rather than Manifest, but still lacking duration and durability. Finally, he focused on the remaining structures and found them all to be of the Manifest variety rather than Branded.

A solid, flat panel could have some uses as a door or a table, but Symeon wasn’t planning on building anything so extravagant in the short term. Instead, he gave an experimental nudge with his foot against the Branded Chrysalis Basin. To his satisfaction he found it to also be comparatively light for its mass, as he was able to shift it on the sand with moderate effort.

“Hey Istroama, c’mere ‘n help me carry this thing. Might come in handy.”

Istroama dutifully came over to help, and they quickly had the original lid back in position on the basin. Symeon took the front with Istroama at the back, and under Symeon’s direction they lifted the thing up and over the other Chrysalises, taking care not to touch them. From there they began a leisurely march toward the border of the sand and the grass, in the general direction of the river.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The conversation lapsed for while they moved inland, with Symeon thinking ahead to the needs of survival. He planned to point Istroama at some simple jobs like gathering deadwood and foliage for an A-frame shelter, while Symeon himself would forage around the river in hopes of turning up useful plants. Moss, leaves, anything edible, with any luck something like bamboo they could use for immediate water, the list went on and on.

When they had gotten past the white sands to the first grassy growths of the inland, Istroama broke the silence. “Lucky break for us the emissions from that corpse weren’t harmful, eh Symeon? Those flowers were a most excellent idea. A fine thing that you knew they were safe to use that way!”

“Naw, yeah.” Symeon muttered as thought of the petals. He had simply grabbed the nearest blooms to obscure the stench without considering if the flowers themselves might be dangerous. It seemed to have worked out well enough, as neither man was foaming with poison or thrashing through a hallucination, but the reality was Symeon just hadn’t considered the risk. He resolved to do better, and with that resolution came an idea. His focus had previously granted him basic information on various objects. It was possible that focusing on specific plants might give him enough information to avoid the unpleasant business of finding out what was toxic the hard way.

“This Chrysalis of yours, I must admit I don’t understand why we’re taking it with us.”

The question brought Symeon back to reality again. He had barely noticed how close they were getting to the forest that girded the river’s banks. Looking toward the sun gave him no indication of how much time had passed, as it still seemed unmoving in the sky. Symeon resolved to deal with that issue as soon as they made camp.

“We need water. Shelter is more important if the weather turns, but shelter’s pretty easy to deal with. A few logs, a solid stump, some branches, leaves and moss, boom! We got ourselves an A-frame. Dig a hole with a stick, more branches, a little effort, boom! Good ol’ fire-hole if we want it. Or just swap a buncha rocks for the diggin’ to make somethin’ less fancy. Hold up here a bit.”

They came to a halt as Symeon took a look around. They were well into the green grass and shrubbery, close enough to the forest’s edge that Symeon thought he could hear the river ahead. The beach was still within sight, though the Chrysalises were far enough away as to have vanished in the distance.

“Let’s set it down here, Istroama.”

With a little fumbling they got the slab placed, gently crunching the more sturdy portions of the wild scrub. “This’ll do for now. We’ll need ta clear some space before we get a fire goin’. I’m hopin’ a bit of knife work will fix it.”

“Excellent! One question. What’s a knife?”

Symeon’s response was delayed as he scanned Istroama’s expression for signs of mockery. Istroama, for his part, seemed utterly earnest. Symeon reached down and retrieved his own Innocent Blade from his robe. “One of these. You’ve got one too.” Istroama patted his robes to find his own blade, and extracted it with a smile on his face. “There ya go. We’ll have a go with these ta cut away fire hazards. Might have ta dig a fire hole if it doesn’t work.”

“Ah! A permanent matter-based tool! Yes, now you point it out it’s quite obvious, isn’t it? One doesn’t always have the luxury of forming a specialized cutting edge, after all.”

Symeon shook his head, unable to come up with a useful response to the statement. Finding himself stymied, he swiftly changed the topic. “Anyway, this Chrysalis. I’m thinkin’ it might work for clean water. The big issue with water is gettin’ it safe to drink. If we don’t, we end up makin’ ourselves sick. Might be some plants we could tap, but there’s no guarantee we’ll find that sorta plant around. Maybe we could use the basin ta catch rain, but that puts us just waitin’ for rain.” Symeon looked up at the clear blue skies with ambivalence.

“Yeah, naw, best ta assume we’ll need to boil water, so I’m bettin’ on is this big tub. Says it has no durability, ‘n I’m hopin’ that means this thing isn’t gonna get wrecked if we build a fire under it. Still gotta fill it, but I think the lid’ll be the solution ta that.”

Istroama, for his part, simply smiled and nodded, despite having absolutely no idea what rain was. Istroama was a man of no small intelligence, and had realized how utterly lost he was in this new world not long after being awakened by Symeon. He knew he felt hunger. In the Oruke he would have simply taken some lesser life and absorbed it for sustenance, but thus far nothing he had touched had yielded any nutrition at all. He was clearly well out of his element. On the other collection of digits, this Symeon fellow was well intentioned enough, and seemed to have an idea of what needed to be done.

Symeon pulled the lid off the Chrysalis, and began carrying the lid toward the forest. “Shelter, water, food. We got two knives with a duration, robes with a duration, our hands, ‘n this here Chrysalis.”

“I don’t understand what you mean. Certainly the idea of durability in regard to permanent matter makes sense, but duration? What happens to these ‘robes’ when the duration runs out?”

Symeon shook his head in reply, because he had the very same concerns Istroama had just voiced. “I dunno. We’ll find out in about a week, I guess. It's durability that’s really got me scratchin’ my head, though. It could mean that the knives ‘n the sandals ‘n such are indestructible until the time's up. Not that I’d want to risk any of our stuff testin’ that idea.”

Symeon clapped his hands together as if to clear his thoughts. “Here and now, though. I’ll see what I can forage from around the river. You check around the woods for branches. Keep an eye open for a flint, too. Clean water is still an issue. We’ll need every edge we can get or we’ll be stuck suckin’ the dew off of leaves. Stay in line of sight of each other, just in case. Any questions?”

“Well, yes. Just a few. First, what’s a flint?”

“Uh, it’s a kinda rock.” Symeon suddenly realized the troubles in describing a specific type of stone to someone who seemingly had no context at all. “Okay, don’t worry about flint, I’ll see if I can scrounge one up by the river ‘n show ya.”

“Understood. Now, what’s a river?”

Symeon pointed over his shoulder toward the turgid flow on the other side of the treeline. A rueful sense of despair was growing in his gut.

“That collection of fire-aligned growths?”

“What? Yeah, naw, I think you’re lookin’ at the trees for that one. A big cluster of trees is a forest. I’m talkin’ about the water on the other side of the trees bein’ the river. Usually runs down from the mountains.”

“Oh, I see! Matter and liquidity! That seems very right to me, we had something very much like that in Alsualsu.”

Symeon’s face was carefully blank as he finally began to realize the enormity of experience Istroama simply didn’t have. “Wow. Okay. So I’m gonna get ya gatherin’ wood until I can get ya up ta speed.” Symeon ducked down, gathered a handful of fallen branches in various states of decay, and presented them to Istroama. “This is what we’re lookin’ for. All sizes, lots of it. Don’t pull it off of the trees if you can help it, just get it off the ground. Straight ones are better, thick as your wrist for preference. Don’t break them up, just spread ‘em out by the Chrysalis ‘n we’ll sort them out for fire ‘n buildin’ later. Don’t go out of light of sight, we gotta be ready to have each other’s backs if there are more Imps around.”

“Yes. Right. May I venture one more question?”

“Ya ask what ya gotta ask, man.”

“You mentioned rain before...”

“It’s, ah… water from the sky.”

Istroama was genuinely alarmed by this, and gazed with a wary eye skyward. “That sounds rather dangerous.”

“It’s got its upsides and downsides. Look, don’t worry too much right now. The chance of rain is part of why we’re gonna make a shelter. We got this, okay?” Symeon pressed the handful of sticks to Istroama. “For now, just follow the plan ‘n get more branches.”

Istroama gazed intently at the deadwood Symeon had given him, and then with a smile and a nod left to move along the treeline. To Symeon’s delight, Istroama seemed to have a talent for the job, beginning to gather wood at an excellent pace. Maybe things would work out after all, he thought, as he prepared for his own tasks.