Electrified by my excitement and flourishing greed, I open all the other world rocks and take a taste of each one. There’s also blue, green, purple, and orange. Luckily there are several more of the red as well! I’m most excited for the green. It’s like me! However, it only makes me feel a little bit less tired from all the running and climbing. Nowhere near as wondrous an inner world as the red. The blue and orange don’t seem to do anything at all, but they do taste sour and sweet. The purple, even with only a small taste, makes me feel sick. I’d spit it back out, but my non-mud instincts still declare that these are all incredibly valuable and so should be properly cherished. I’ll tolerate some sick for the sake of treasure.

  After placing all the world stones back into the large skin enclosure for protection, I excitedly review the other doodads and contraptions that remain. There’s many more metals that look the same as mine but wear their own little skins. Do they also need protection? This puzzles me briefly until I realize that the sharp and pointy bit of the metal that cut me before is held in my hand without injuring it again. Amazing! Even more, there’s another one tied to the skin string bound around my waist. It hangs there as if another mouth, ready for me to pluck the metal out during a time of need.

  Most of what’s left makes no sense to me. At least right now. Perhaps I’ll better learn or recognize them given time, practice, and patience? However, two more of the objects do amaze me: a skin holding water hanging at my waist and another holding dry, dusty meat. Even more mouths to hold important things at the ready!

  The only other object worth puzzling over is this bizarre, curved wooden club. Upon closer inspection, I realize that it’s tightly bound into its curve by some non-skin string thing. Is it for holding more of the smaller skin enclosures like the ones tied at my waist? Experimenting with it, I manage to hang it over my shoulder and chest to carry it more easily, freeing another hand. Maybe it really is like another waist skin string. Although, then why didn’t the song use it that way? He was carrying it in his hands when I pounced. Strange.

  I can’t fixate on this for too long. It’s a waste of time. Instead, I ravenously tear apart and swallow some of the dusty meat, chasing it down with skin water. Content with the triumphant feast, I curl into a tight, little ball to get some sleep. As much as the red world healed me completely, exhaustion still consumes me due to everything that’s happened nonstop since I first awakened in the mud. A low ache racks my entire body, screaming until I stop, lie down, and rest. My eyes close for only a moment before I’m taken away.

  The quiet peace is interrupted as a scream shatters the peace. Suddenly I’m wrapped in a crazy, tangled mess of squirming arms and legs. Another fight has broken out. A big one wearing a long, soft skin covering his whole person and a little one are grappling and repeatedly striking at each other, rolling around on the ground. Every movement brings them closer and closer to the border of death. The little one has a metal in his hand, repeatedly drawing red as fast as he can. The big one wrestles him back with one hand. The other emits crackling sparks and flames onto the screaming, little green melting form who only amplifies his attack in response. The big one grits his teeth tight in frustration at the failure to push the other off.

  Begun in a quick, awkward flash, the scene abruptly transitions into a slow, barely moving struggle. My focus zooms to the powerful hand wielding the raging, raw elements. Flash. Flash. Burst. Burn. Flash. Another song? My greed flares as the scene slows even further, as if at my command due to the expressed interest.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Flash. Burst. Burn. Flash. The buildup to each measure gradually grows clearer. A carefully positioned hand, transforming. A gentle willingness of blood and flesh, conveying. A beating heart, generating. A beating… stone? A heart within the heart, the source. The world outside, the sink. Flash. Flash. Burst.

  Tradition dictates that I celebrate this discovery with a dance or jumping, but I find myself unable to move my hands and legs. Why can’t I choose where they go? Stop! These are mine. The amplified greed transforms into fear, as I realize that everyone in the tangle can barely function any longer. Death is so close. I don’t want to die. There’s still so much to take! To learn. To eat. I still need revenge! I still need–

  My eyes open to a bright, clear sky bearing down on me through the leaves of my tree refuge. A part of me is tense, as if still wrapped in that fight. My throat is parched from heavy breathing. My teeth and jaw hurt from a vice-like clench. I try to relax, but it’s impossible. Gradually I work my body into compliance with my demands, and the tension settles. To clear the air, I try to utter my puzzlement out loud to the world in order to organize my thoughts.

  “Wat?” I say, startling myself at the voiced word’s inconsistency with my inner mind. “Wat dat? Non dat. Wat wat? Wat! Dat non. Spak!”

  What’s happening? I can’t speak. I can’t… express. I can’t actually get my thoughts out into the world. They’re trapped in mind. Restricted? It sounds exactly like all the others at home. Are my brothers all trapped too? Is that what made Proud mad? He couldn’t take it anymore and struck out in frustration?

  I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know! For some reason my mind rages at the restrictions, as if a wild animal tied down against its will and bucking against the restraints. I have to get the words out. I have to get something out! I have to!

  “Wan spak! Spak! Spak spak! Spak har. Spak fras!”

  This useless yelling isn’t enough. The words won’t come out properly no matter how hard I push. In response, I shift my focus to deep within my mind, far past the mud. I try to move, to pull, to force. Anything. Whatever’s in there must come out. I have to release it.

  My mind shifts again, but this time my chest hurts. I feel a heavy, singular beat, and with that single push my entire body electrifies in pain. I scream. Regardless of the release, it won’t stop. It’s still in there! I have to get it out. Out!

  “Ood!” I righteously holler into the void.

  My flesh and blood relax, as if physically remembering the dream. As they begin to convey, the pain recedes. However, a moment later it amps back up again since there’s nowhere to convey anything to. Everything wildly circulates around, thrashing and damaging whatever it smashes into.

  “Oooooood!” I screech through tightly gritted teeth with my hands outstretched, bracing myself against the tree.

  That was it! I focus on my hands. That was the final step in the dream. They must collect and transform! I must repeat the song. Flash? Flash. Burn. No, burst! Burst. Flash. Flash. Burst. Burn!

  My hands spark, exploding into intense heat and flames. My body feels instant relief from the release of tension, but now my hands sting from all the terrible burns covering them. Worse still, the tree’s on fire. Now the outside world rages from my outburst, as if infuriated by my words.