I roll away from the ball of fur, wrestling with the twisted cape, the creature's limbs and the crystalline sword trapped haphazardly underneath me. I’m surprised I’m not bleeding out until I stumble to my feet and dismay courses through me.

Well, that explains it…

The sword isn’t a sword anymore, it’s back to a stick, and the frustrated growl that hisses through my lips is cut off by a similar one from the figure beside me. I’m startled, eyes meeting oval pupils flickering with intelligence, and then a passerby crashes into me.

I fly into another tumble across the street, smashing into something solid. Pains hoots up my side and I hiss. There’s another jostle of bodies, and I fight to orient myself, getting jumbled in a passing crowd that I suddenly realize can’t see me.

Finally, I tumble out of the street, flattening against the nearest building. My hand cups the radiating ache. It stings. Mostly though, it’s just embarrassing. This is the second most grievous injury I’ve had since waking up and all I did was cross the street.

I sigh, steadying myself, and take a moment to observe my surroundings.

There are humanoids and creatures I’ve never seen before milling about on the street. Some I’m not sure are alive until I see them move, some with features I’d never associate with a living creature. It’s mind-boggling — literally.

My brain is flooded with a chaotic storm of images. Memories shoot past, my mind attempting to match what I see with what I can barely remember, and the sheer force of it hurts.

Piercing pain radiates behind my eyes and I clench them shut, sucking in a breath.

That’s when the scents filter in. Some sweet, some sour. Hints of fragrances waft through the air and the difference strikes me, because it’s no longer dominated by the salt of the sea. I got out! I’m with people!

Well, sort of people. Yup, I’m calling them people.

That train of thought makes me open up an eye, sweeping across the crowd before me. Ah...there’s one, and another, and another.

Humans. There are humans here.

Relief is a soft bubble of warmth and tears blur my vision.

Oh.

I hadn’t realized it... but there was something grating about this foreign world. It was hard in a way that only the unfamiliar can be. It was scratching at my mind like sandpaper and I didn’t understand until now how harsh the dissonance was. I feel raw, I realize. I feel like I'm being slowly worn away.

I clench my fists against the feeling and focus on the humans.

Their clothing is...odd.

A jumble of images fights to clog up my brain so I concentrate on one detail at a time. I start with a shirt. It's not like my shirt. It’s not like the pajamas I found in the white room. The material is grey, with a black vest overtop, and there are dozens of white straps twisted around the torso. The sleeves are rolled up, and it’s hard to tell from this distance, but it looks like the cloth might be leather. Below, on bare wrists, are dozens of white bracelets.

That’s all I can catch by the time the man has wandered out of view, swallowed by the crowd.

I catch a woman next and I focus on her pants. Again, the material looks leathery. Straps tie silver plates to the garment, covering the knees and shins. Black boots rise to midcalf and the color blends into the green of the leather. The view is covered by passersby and I manage to just glance up, regarding her hair before she completely passes from view. White straps, like the ones on the man’s vest, are twirled through ringlets of red, the white ribbons dangling down her back.

I try to place the style of clothing in my mind, but the pain stabs between my eyes, stronger this time. I duck around the corner of the building and shuffle into a thin alley. There’s not much difference between the light of the street and the corridor, but it's dim enough that the stabbing ebbs. It also helps that all there is to look at is a solid wooden surface.

Granted, the glowing grain of the wood is bizarre, but it’s not overwhelming.

I shake my head, trying to focus. The pain is a problem. I can't exactly gather information if I can't look for it, or at people in general. What am I supposed to do?

Turns out the dull monotony of the desert was an actual kindness.

Which reminds me...

I peek around the corner, confirming what I suspect. The broken shard of space is gone. A cautious step out of the alley confirms the same thing from a different angle. The air is closed, and so is my way back.

The crowd fluctuates and the throb in my brain returns, encouraging a retreat back into the alley.

Ugh! What am I supposed to do now? Look around until I get used to…to looking at things? Would that even work? Or is there a way to hold back the flood of memories, maybe sift through them at a pace that does’t resemble a landslide? A landslide...hmm, that’s a new one. I try to picture one in particular, but I get the impression I haven’t personally been in one.

There’s a rustle to my right, from deep in the alley. I spin, hands flying to the stick at my waist and I nearly scream at the... small rock... that's walking... toward me.

It’s charcoal black. Dull grey lines form hexagonal cracks on its rounded form and two little stubs poke out of the top and bottom like limbs. Grey, glowing eyes blink at me.

…

I’m losing my mind. It’s happening. I wish I hadn't eaten so much sand.

I pinch my eyes shut, willing the insanity away, and open them again.

The boulder is still there...no, rather it’s closer than it was before, closer to me. I wonder if it can see me, or if I’m just as invisible as I was to the people on the street.

It does a little wobble, tilting back and forth on its stubby legs, the motion is decidedly unsteady. The crown of its head reaches just past my knees, and...and … Oh. It’s cute!

The blinking grey eyes droop and the wobble turns into a spin. Giggles slip through my lips and the tipping stops. Its eyes shoot wide and the little stubs still.

There’s a pause, and I draw in a slow breath, watching it.

Then… it talks.

The hexagonal cracks pull apart below the eyes and a string of sound pours out. It’s not like the snake-rabbits, I realize. It sounds entirely different. But I still have no idea what it means. The voice is graveled and low, but the cadence is velvet smooth.

It doesn’t hurt to look at this creature. Maybe because it looks so obviously like a rock?

Well...I guess I can introduce myself.

My fingers brush against the clasp of my cloak, and I’m not even sure how to turn it off, but the subtle touch triggers a feeling of release.

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It’s immediately apparent that something has changed, because the boulder jerks, losing its footing. It pitches back, clunking against the white brick. The momentum nearly rolls it onto its head, but the stubby arms catch and it flops on its back, limbs kicking frantically.

“Oh...” My hand flies to my mouth and I stifle a laugh.

It really is cute.

I reach out and the kicking grows more frantic. “Oh, I’m sorry...” I know it probably doesn't understand, but I speak again, softer this time. “It’s okay little friend.”

I touch a stubby arm and it stills. I’d say it goes ridged, but as a rock I think it was there already…

My fingers wrap around its arm and I tug. The stone is coarse and my hand stings a bit as I release my grip, righting the boulder onto its feet. It immediately hobbles back a couple of steps, arms flailing when it tips precariously.

I grab its arm, steadying the motion and the boulder's eyes blow wide.

Well… I’m not sure what to do here.

After several minutes of rifling through memories I decide on hand signals… and quickly feel stupid. It doesn’t even have hands! Would it even work?

But it’s not like I’m flooded with other options.

I point at myself, then the boulder. And then….hug… myself.

…

The boulder remains wide-eyed, though no more than before, so I’m at least assured that I haven’t threatened it accidentally.

Next, I point at my lips and then cross my fingers in front of them. Then I point to myself and the boulder and mime walking with my fingers.

The boulder's eyes droop a bit and I can’t help but feel like it’s judging me. Still, the face is less wary than before. Even its stubby arms droop and its stiff posture subtly sways. Finally, it spins in a maneuver smooth enough that I’m surprised that it’d fallen in the first place.

It starts wobbling away, further into the alley, and I follow.

The minimal details of the passage are easier for my mind to process, so I scan the area as the stone slowly wobbles on. The corridor is clean, which contrasts with my subconscious expectation of alleys, but it’s in line with my experience of white bricks.

The wood of the surrounding buildings is dark brown, but there’s a small hint of lavender in the color. The grain glows with a similar tint and if not for the light leaking in from above, the glow would’ve brightened the space.

We walk through a number of intersections, and across several crowded streets. At each crossing my eyes fixate on the brick beneath my feet. A couple of times I’m knocked of course, but each time I cross the boulder is on the other side waiting.

The buildings themselves grow taller as we move, and I wonder if it’s mimicking the floating structures above. And it strikes me that these buildings weren’t here before. Where did they come from? Where did…where did I come from?

My thoughts shift, remembering my fall through the shard, and I look down at the stick tied to my waist. The stick… that was once a sword.

“Ugh! This place is the worst.”

The boulder stalls for a moment, tipping precariously as it swerves toward me.

“Ah, it’s nothing. Just talking to myself.”

It doesn’t move, grey eyes unblinking, and I catch the hint after a moment. I mime with my hands as best I can and end up settling with a touch to my lips and spinning my finger near my head to illustrate my insanity. Finally, I finish with walking fingers. The boulder blinks, hesitating. I wonder if I need to reassure it that I’m harmless, but then it turns back to continue walking.

Well, that settles that.

It feels like we’ve walked for an hour by the time our surroundings noticeably change. Granted, the little boulder wasn’t much of a speed walker to begin with, but we’ve definitely ventured into a new area.

The alleyways grow dimmer, and the buildings are now 10 stories high. The greenery I had seen through the shard is more prevalent here. Big, leafy blossoms hang off of the roofs and drape the glowing walls in lavender. Some look like as if they’ve sprouted straight from the wooden planks. The glow of the grain is more pronounced here and the shadowed passage is kept from complete darkness.

The boulder hobbles to a stop when the alley dead ends. Its legs twirl and the grey eyes meet mine. The look is more appraising this time and I wonder if it changed its mind when it spins on its stubs and walks into the wall.

I’m shocked at first, thinking the little stone lost its mind, but the wood ripples like a pool of water and the boulder is sucked up until it’s completely from sight.

“Umm…”

Okay? I try to remember if I’ve seen this before, and there’s a vague memory of walking through…streamers. Hmm. Close enough.

I suck in a breath and step into the wall.

It feels…goopy, sort of slimy and thick. It ripples around me and I pinch my eyes shut, holding my breath as I submerge. There’s a moment where I stick, like the goop is sucking to my limbs, then my fingers thrust into open air and I follow them. A little breath hisses through my lips and my eyes flicker open, fully free of the slime.

The room I emerge in is open. Barren wood walls blanket the space in a dim glow. There are piles of cloth scattered around the room, some twisted or flattened. More material is hung up, and I realize it’s a partition between spaces. Boxes, made of a green material, dot the room.

It’s a communal living space, I realize, but at a scale that is suited for the small rock beside me. Is this a colony of boulder children?

My companion ignores me, wobbling past to a small space in the corner. A leathery cloth is laid out flat and three green boxes are arranged along the wall. The boulder approaches one. There are no lids, and it makes sense that there aren’t any when the rock reaches its stubby arms inside. There’s no way it would’ve had the dexterity to pull off a lid.

After a moment, it waddles back towards me, its prize held out.

It’s…another rock. Smaller and very different than my companion. I take it carefully, holding it in my hands. It’s orange and looks almost like an ember. I notice the boulder returns to its box, pulling out its own rock. The hexagonal cracks in its form move, revealing its blackened mouth, and in goes the ember.

Ah…Is this…is this cannibalism?

It’s startling to see, and the boulder has the whole rock in its mouth by the time I come to my senses. The glowing lines along its frame pulse brighter and its eyes flash. The mouth slowly closes and the boulder looks at me.

I look down at the ember in my hands, realizing what it wants.

The rock is slightly warm. A glow dances like a flame beneath its surface and when I squeeze my hands it depresses slightly. Soft.

I squeeze again and the rock gives.

My eyes dart to my companion. It’s still looking on expectantly.

Well, I’ve eaten sand. This isn’t really a stretch, is it? Besides, it’d be nice to eat something that’s not bitter.

I give it an experimental lick.

The gagging sound that follows is interrupted by a sharp hum and the pitch of voices. I spin to see a collection of…children? Stumbling through the wall. For a moment sharp pain shoots through my mind as I wrestle to categorize the strangers.

The babble of voices pitches higher and I squeeze my eyes shut. I can feel the ember contorting in my fist and I focus on the tactile sensation. The pain dulls and I concentrate on the babble first, trying to declutter it enough to categorize. I grab the swarming bundles of information, tacking them to the wall of mind in the most basic of familiarities so they’ll just stop moving.

It's a bit difficult to parse out, and much of it is categorized as “unrecognizable”, but I manage to pull out some of the sounds. Then I notice a repetition. The word is passed back and forth between the children and I piece it apart.

It sounds like “hovran”, but with an ‘r’ that rolls across the tongue.

Hovran?

I let an eye peek open, narrowing my field of vision.

There’s a little creature standing near me, big pink eyes looking up. I scan its face. There’s not an exact match in my memories, but I imagine the closest resemblance would be a barn owl. Even that though isn’t quite right. Its feet are closer to a ducks, but furry like a cow. Its arms are wings, but there are also arms and glove-like hands at the ends. The feathers sprouting along its face are a fluffy light brown.

I try it out loud this time. “Hovran?”

The pink eyes blink and a little mouth, very much like a tiny beak, chatters. I can tell immediately from its face that I got it wrong somehow, but I’m not sure what’s off. The sounds are right, I’m sure. Was it the intonation? Or was my face supposed to be saying something it wasn’t? Glancing at the boulder, I doubt it was that.

The babble of voices starts up again. I’ve categorized most of the sounds, so the waterfall of language doesn’t ache, and it’s enough that I tip my head up, past the bird, to take in the crowd of...well, children.

At first, I wonder if everyone in the city is short, but then I recall the brief flashes of creatures I saw in the streets and I realize that the ones before me are decidedly smaller than those outside.

The bird steps closer and tugs on my cloak. Its head tilts up and down, like it’s looking at the fabric. A stream of babble pours out of its mouth and then several other children step forward. One pokes me in the stomach, another bends down to tug on the string of my shoe. Yet another grabs my hand, studying the pads of my fingers.

They seem to be discussing something, because the little heads shift from me to each other, dialogue bouncing back and forth at a rapid speed.

Finally, all the children step back and the bird nods. It grabs my hand and tugs, moving towards the opposite wall. We pass through another layer of thick goop and the substance gives way to yet another room. This one is smaller than its predecessor. It’s like a closet in size and I nearly trip over the bird when it stops.

I’m looking at a living space, like the others. But this one is singular. Two combined boxes sit in the middle with a blanket laid over them. A child is lying on top and I can tell from the bird's focus that this is what we came for.

The creature is humanoid. Veins of white twist along its icy figure and they pulse with a dim light. Glacial spikes run up and over its head where hair would’ve been on a human. Its face is pale white, while everything below the collar blends into dark blue. It’s wearing a sack for clothing and it’s curled into itself, knees tucked to its chest and hands fisted in the blankets.

The bird turns to me, wings and arms flailing in a complex set of signals. It takes a minute, and a bit of digging in long forgotten memories before I understand.

The child lying on the blankets is dying.