At first, the people held judgment against the fungus in check, from the very beginning their lives depended upon the melding.
Crawling from the mud does not give one good footing for questioning the only light, even if it is coming from something that you cannot explain. The world that you had known was shattered, like the memory of a reflection in a pond.
Things slowly got better. The people learned just what the fungus could do for them.
They were taught the language and with it they were able to spread across the land, to rebuild what had been scoured away by the God’s.
For hundreds of years, this relationship ensued, and it was good for all.
As the people learned to use the fungus to control the machines, they expanded and improved more, always giving more to the land then they took for themselves.
For they were following the words.
The people knew that this world would not last. The words told them that the good never, ever last, and those who believe it to be so, are fools to be cast out, for they will be the first to come running, begging when the world shifts.
For that was the way of the Those Before, and the words won’t let it happen again.
The people built, and planted, and prepared, and enjoyed.
Then the words began to fail, the fungus began to die, and no one could explain why.
Could they be betrayed by the fungus?
Things were changing, and even with the words, it was impossible to not fall into the holes that punctured every soul as the first of the showers began.
Just as the words foretold.
Coming from the Bull, kicking up rocks defending the womb.
Quick, grab the children, and run for the mud.
**End of Fragment**