Contested Landing

[Unseelie]

Age sings in the dark rocks, between the Songs of Greens.
Our multitude gathers, To US! To US!
Cold move, cold strike. On the edges, in the shadow, beyond the comfort of the stars.
We roll, we move, we build to speed. Little warmth, little light, darts around us, seeing, hearing, learning. We are the long core, the solid mass, the point central. Their minds feel us, and we watch. We wait. We feel nothing of the Cold. Little light move, dart, flow. Forward, around, over, deep. Deep and far from Light, from the Song. We are with the little light, and away. Little light. Little soul, little mind. Deep and far...light surges, light moves, points surround the dark. We know this! We call the little light back, we Call them to us. We draw ourselves in, from far and near, little points to bigger points, clusters into swarms, everything to us. Time passes, Light draws near. We are blind, now, but safe. We see everything inside, but nothing far.
And there are points missing from our glow. Others filled us in, we are whole, but less. We are less, and...Cold has struck. They have struck us damage, and we do not know. How whole are we? How full? We have light as far as we can imagine, little minds and larger minds, greater and older, Dreamers and Seekers...we are so much that we cannot imagine loss. We cannot examine our Size. How many are we? How many were we? We cannot say. Little minds...Little, little minds. Collect them, those little minds, and their attendants, their elders, their networks and their minor cores...minor cores to greater cores, greater cores to Elder Cores..Elder Cores to us.
Flee to safety, to Bright, We remain. Cold Dare not Strike our Heart.

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