Dawn of the Nephilim

25. Introspection part I

Both Windar and Eloï'Inda weren't much in the mood for sparring for the rest of the day. Which was just as well for Ronan, who wasn't sure he would be able to cope with another day of rigorous exercise. Instead, Eloï'inda brought Ronan to the shore, and put him in a meditative position. Then she said unto him in a very certain tone. "Ronan, you must sit here and search within yourself, until you can answer me one simple question. Why does blood flow? Do not worry, it is not meant as some sort of trick question. This exercise is as much about being able to see within yourself, as it is about utilizing the knowledge that I very much suspect you should have access to."

By now firmly under the impression that astute cooperation would be the quickest path to understanding, Ronan acquiesced, plunked himself down and set to it, albeit grudgingly.

Well that's just terrific. Why does blood flow? So you don't die. But that probably won't satisfy her. Why does blood flow? Under Eloï'inda's expert guidance Ronan swiflty mastered the art of muttering in his thoughts. He heaved a sigh and took his task up in earnest. Well, he took up a stick in his vicinity and started to draw figures in front of him in the sand, while the gashes he made filled with seeping water like so many arteries. The familiar crunch of a branch sliding through wet sand, and the different colors the irregular grains spread out as they moved fascinated him as always. This was what made life simple and livable. Things being as they should be. Repetitive, predictable, controllable. He noticed the figure of a small, black ant walking in front of him, its exoskeleton shimmering with a reddish hue in the afternoon sun. Has that much time passed already? The ant cast a shadow seemingly twice its size. There's probably a nest nearby. He took some time to appreciate the ant, something he felt he should take the time to do more often. Six little legs dribbled forward at a mad pace, propelling three different body parts. The animal never seemed to waver or trip, nor did it seem to tire. So much energy in such a little creature. Leave it to an ant to make you feel lazy no matter what you do. Two small antenna sprouted next to two black eyes and a gaping jagged jaw, constantly moving over the ground in front of the creature. Ronan took his stick and made a straight line in the sand in front of the ant, just to see how it would deal with it.

The ant didn't seem to take notice and dribbled forth until it reached the in its eyes probably huge furrow. There, the ant stopped dead in its tracks, and, seemingly confused, fumbled the ridge of the little furrow with its antenna. It ran around in panicked disarray for a second, or perhaps it was exploring the properties of this strange barrier. Then it started to follow the ridge upwards. Fascinated, Ronan made another furrow, this one horizontal, in the path of the ant. Again, the ant was halted in its tracks. A similar situation unfolded in front of Ronan, and the ant decided to try going around the other end of the furrow. Clever. As the ant started to hurry back down, Ronan realized it had to be pretty bad for an ant to be held up. After all, if you are always hurrying, you can never make up for lost time. He however, had not yet tired of his game. And in a moment of what the ant should probably consider incredible malice, Ronan mad a few quick strokes on the remaining free sides of the ant, thus effectively boxing it in. This resulted in yet more confusion on the side of the ant. Feverishly, it ran from side to side until it realized there was going to be no easy way out. Then it halted to ponder its unpleasant situation.

What am I to you I wonder? Do you see me doing this to you, or are you cursing fate for the stumbling blocks it throws upon your path? Maybe I'm just a force of nature to you. Maybe you don't think at all. Whatever he was to the ant, Ronan now started to take pity on it, and he felt guilt over the way he had treated the animal. He put his wooden instrument of torment in front of it, and after a few evasive maneuvers, the ant climbed onto it. He transported the ant to a place over a meter in the direction it was initially going, to compensate it somewhat for its lost time, dropped it off and forgot about it. Just when he decided that all this distraction wasn't helping him to answer Eloï'inda's question and he had begun reiterating the blood conundrum ad nauseam, he noticed a small purple trail in front of him. His heart clutched in his chest as memories from the bird dream came flooding in. The purple trail followed the exact path the ant had taken, including all its weird turns and twists. He looked to his right, where he had deposited the ant, and there the trail continued in twists and turns, until his eyes reached the ant that was still frantically running around.

He was about to get up and go to Windar and Eloï'inda to tell them about all this, when he felt a tingle in his brain, eerily similar to what he had felt when he had been pondering how to destroy that flower. He tried to ignore the tingle, not to engage it. But naturally when you say 'don't think about a pink elephant', you think about a pink elephant. And so he again got flushed with a torrent of knowledge inside of his head, that threatened to overwhelm him. He struggled to stay calm, to control the influx. All the while, images of ants popped up in front of his eyes. More species than he could hope to fathom. Some that cultivated fungus on leaves like crops, others that kept insects as cattle. Ants that hunted under water, or from the stems of hollow plants. He learned about the structure of their cities, how they managed temperature, moisture and air composition. He learned about their queens, how their colonies functioned as if there was one brain, one organism. He learned about their wars, bloody and merciless. He desperately started to repeat a single thought in his head when the torrent threatened to flush him away. I am Ronan, I am the master of my own brain. I am Ronan, I am the master of my own brain. Gradually, ever so gradually, the rushing river of information in his head started to subside again.