(no subject)
*The feathered serpent-god glides into the Nexus, slithering through the air with a little flourish to his movements that speaks of triumph. He carries something small in his mouth, dropping it into a large granite urn filled with dark soil. Over the urn he twists and winds, shedding dense clouds from his feathers. Rain and sun fall upon the urn, the scent of a moist spring breeze rising as he works. Bit by bit, the seed in the urn grows, showing first a few tender shoots, then longer, stronger branches, until at last a bush taller than most humans spreads its limbs, fat pods swelling in a matter of moments under the cover of its leaves. The god of sun and rain has brought a miracle of life to the Nexus, and with his labors done, settles into the bush's branches to recline.*
Ahh, done at last. Sages, some time ago I learned that something in my gift was sometimes harmful, a something called caffiene. I have labored long, and made at last a cacao which carries none. Now that my gift is given, how shall I celebrate?
Ahh, done at last. Sages, some time ago I learned that something in my gift was sometimes harmful, a something called caffiene. I have labored long, and made at last a cacao which carries none. Now that my gift is given, how shall I celebrate?