— Fryx… are you sure you’re okay?
— Of course. Why are you asking?
— You’ve been… scattered lately. They say you’re sowing everywhere. You know the rules. The Murmins warned me.
— I love creating. That’s what I am. I don’t see the problem.
Gaïa didn’t want to scare him.
Just to show him. Gently.
So she reached out her hand.
In her palm — a drop. Perfect. Transparent.
A mirror.
Fryx looked.
Images began to form.
Then suddenly — he stopped.
And looked at Gaïa.
— Sënka_
