The Land is afraid.

This is a difficult thing for the Land, because that’s simply a very novel emotion. Emotions themselves are rather new to it. Not instinct, not in the same way as before, those were more like instructions, felt but not necessarily understood. This, however, is something altogether new.

It met a monster.

It didn’t come through its borders, didn’t show up on its senses, it just… appeared. Out of some facet or piece of the world and of everything and- and it was just there.

And it was so, so fucking heavy. Like an ingot or unprocessed piece of ore dropped from the sky directly onto its face. It felt like brand new mountains had formed wherever its attention wandered, one particularly violent example coming down upon one of the things that lived on its surface, the one that fed it. Its favorite one, who was always so much larger and stranger and full of more pieces than the others, though it liked them too.

When the mountains shaped like a presence arrived, it had churned and roiled, every one of the living things that were fully a part of it moving and stretching to send strength towards the one that feeds it. But there was a disconnect. While the one that feeds it is close to it, lives on its surface and is deeply familiar in so many ways, it’s not truly one of the Land’s creatures, not truly an extension of itself like the fish in the pond, the grass, the trees, the bamboo. It roiled in the pond, writhing with a thousand bodies, squirming with a hundred hundred sets of eyes and teeth, and it grew terrified, for it had no extensions that could touch the violent mountain and no power it could send to its would-be champion. Instinct screamed at the Land that it shouldn’t have learned to trust, that it should have spent its energies building better defenders, turning the bacteria and minute life-forms in its soil into deadlier versions of themselves…

But the mountain made it clear. Beyond instinct, there was a rational, logical conclusion- it could not defeat the horned mountain full of hate. Not with all the life of its pond, and not if it had spent every possible moment since consciousness struck it creating new defenders.

And then… the mountain left.

The champion grew and broke through its weight, and they exchanged vibrations of sound for a time, and then the mountain left.

And then once more, its champion surprised it. It went out past the bamboo, past the meager protection the land had spent so much of itself to offer, and had confronted the hungry predator-thing right outside.

This, unlike the mountain, was not an unknown. This was a clear, consistent threat. The predator-thing had danced under the nooks and edges and pages, where even the Land could not see, but it had felt its hunger, constant and ever-present, all the same. This was a thing that could eat the Heart of the Land in a single, vicious bite if it so chose.

And once again, its champion surprised it.

Its champion grew to match the predator, climbed to a fuller, grander self, heavy with weight and with biology and with vigor, and in that violent state… spoke. Once more, it spoke.

And the predator just left.

Its champion had, once again, acted in ways that defied every instinct the Land possesses. It had spoken, it had fed the Land freely, and it protected the Land… and it spoke directly to the Land.

It took many, many days to try to translate the sound waves that its champion had made, back when it offered a heavier feeding to it. It took the movements of the rest of those living upon it, leaving and changing and doing things, one by one, to allow the information to click in its many minds.

Its champion was leaving. Would leave, maybe forever. It would be left defenseless and alone, all its prepared defenses lacking without its champion and provider.

And so, the Land, less than a year old, took the time to do something for the first time in its life.

It sat perfectly still, neither eating nor creating, and forced itself to take a good, long think.

Its feeder, its champion, brought it to this place, which is safe. It fed it with rich, vibrant blood, and gave it a place both untouched and strong for it to exist in. All the Land has offered in return is to feed on the energy that leaks from them and removed pests from around them, kept itself in a proper shape. Even to its simple minds, that’s not an equivalent trade. And now, its champion is taking on greater threats, and perhaps even… leaving. Perhaps its champion is settling their affairs, finding new protectors for it, but…

It’s not enough.

And what’s more, without its champion feeding it, the Land knows its growth will slow. It’s beginning to shape its surroundings and geography to increase the flow of life-food to itself, but to do that while remaining hidden is incredibly difficult, and it knows there are other predator-things that will come for it if it is not hidden. It will lose its main food source, will have to change everything of what it’s done so far, and all of that with no guarantee it’ll be able to survive alone, without those who have kept it company.

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This leads to an interesting conclusion- it cannot force its champion to stay. It doesn’t have the strength or enough to provide, not when its champion can so clearly provide for both itself and the Land. All the options in its control only point to the fact that it will be left behind, and will have to transform everything, only to maybe survive on much, much less.

No matter what happens, two things are true. It will need to change to survive, and it’s greatest, strongest, most multi-faceted resource is leaving this place.

And soon. Soon like now.

The Land watches in fear and horror as its champion and the champion’s packmates (and… sub-body? The smaller one?) head for its perimeter, towards the bamboo. They carry bags with them of food, of spice, of paper and of metals and of other things that the Land does not know, and have nearly emptied their entire den, leaving a place safe and secure but ultimately now… tasteless. Meaningless. Empty.

Its instincts rejoice, pushing itself to celebrate. More privacy, a chance to build up its own forces, to shape its own terrain, to use the cabin as a lure when it so chooses.

But that’s… that’s not what the Land wants.

It’s had someone taking care of it all this time, helping it to be something other than the simplistic form of itself that it would have been instead for who knows how long. It was pushed to change, and if not for that push, for the food given so freely, it would still be something smaller and even simpler.

And so it makes its choice.

The ground roils as the thing beneath the pond shifts itself, the Heart of this little piece of land moving at the fastest speed it can manage towards its protector and… friend. It’s slower than a normal human’s walking pace, but it keeps close, and its champion notices almost immediately, turning to regard the approaching Heart.

The smaller one, the one whos synapses are so bright and ever-shifting and is now two-in-one, looks out towards where the champion is looking. The smallest of them, the least developed, the one that follows its champion around like a lost duckling, seems the most uncertain, the little flickering wisps that hover around the littlest following the gaze of the others ever so slightly.

And the Heart pushes itself, against all instinct that says that this is the worst thing that it can do, to push itself back above the surface, out into open air.

The Land screams, breaking against itself as it tears out its own roots, as it interferes with its own cycling and carefully prepared patterns.

And, at last, for the first time since it was planted, it emerges.

The Heart has changed. Where once it was something like a pearl, a little snippet of flesh born from a greater example of itself, it is now a partially formed thing in and of itself. There are valves, long, reaching roots coming out from them and into the ground, drawing in and pushing out energy to reshape the world around it. In its roots there are notes of blue, green, red, but the Heart itself glows in near-monochrome, fluctuating between an alabaster white and an onyx black, with hints of gold and purple edging out its contours.

And it does not beat.

It sings.

The Heart flutters and trembles, conducting a thousand notes constantly, and here, exposed to the air, it vibrates right alongside the little piece of metal its champion wears, the sound emanating subtly but universally through its territory.

It reaches out, sending its subtle waves of life-food out towards its champion and her protected. It pitches its warbling melody ever so faintly, that her metallic companion might speak of its worth to their mutual champion.

And in the end, all it can do is wait.

For a little while, its champion just looks at it. It does not know if she can feel as it can feel, if she can think as it can think, but it imagines she must be confused. Disoriented, perhaps, or awed by what the Heart has offered. Every second it is exposed to the air its instincts scream in fear, squirming like eels inside it and demanding that it pull itself back into hiding, where it’s safe- but it waits.

Its champion (a threat, outside its control, not bound to its flesh) steps forward once, slowly. Despite itself, the Heart can’t help but shift away, the earth that raises it up on a pedestal pulling it back in instinctive fear. Its champion freezes, then.

She does not pounce, like one would on prey. She does not fall upon it and tear it from the earth to bite into and drink deep from, as it fears something will surely do as it presents itself. She does not rip up its roots and reshape them into painful patterns, forced to mold itself along sharp angles and aching, breaking angles, as deeply-buried memories scream must be its fate if it does not hide.

Its champion too waits.

As they sit there, both confused and unsure of their next steps… a beetle lands on the ground alongside the Heart.

The beetle. The beetle that was there before it ever began to reshape the land, that came with it when it was planted, that lived among its reeds.

It has not consumed the bug, or forced it to change. It felt different than the other animals that simply became part of the Heart as it touched them, and when its tendrils reached too close, it would flutter away, without fear.

And now it rests here. A comforting presence in the face of the unknown and the terrifying. Just a little beetle, but a familiar one.

The Heart’s champion looks to the beetle, then to the Heart…

And then she kneels, and extends out one of her strange, many-digited limbs out to it.

And the Heart decides to rebel against all that could have been, all that demands that it sacrifice what it has gained and made- and reaches back.

For a moment, the contact feels… right. It feels its tendrils, its life-food and energy begin to leak into its champion, but… no. It doesn’t work. Something in her skin stops it from going any deeper, stoops any potential infection.

And so, banking on its own bravery and stubbornness to have even gotten this far, it “looks” up to its protector, its chosen champion, and offers itself fully.

She, to her credit, hesitates.

And then the little piece of metal around her neck hums once, speaking a soft, comforting note.

And she nods.

And she opens her mouth wide, wider than a human could ever, with far too many teeth and a throat long and deep and dark.

She devours the Heart whole.

And the Heart is the Land.

There is a strained and bloody sound as the Heart pulls itself, and all its tendrils, and its pond, and cabin, and bamboo, and fish, and grass and trees and wind- all of itself, right down her gullet.

In that offering, in bloody baptism, in pushing itself towards its champion, in giving itself over entirely, the Heart offers a note to a song still incomplete, adds a final note of understanding to the still unformed part of the symphony in its champion.

The champion and her new Heart discover, together, that We Are What We Eat.