Twelve Strand stepped into the field, hummed the song and quickly dematerialized into the portal, catching his breath and struggling to keep his vector intention from dissolving.
Never before had such an exit shown herself by flyaway protocol and upwards gleam about sheer energy been so relevant or so frightening as night fell and whalesong screech enveloped the mechanism of popping into unexpected showers of radiant snowflakes bound to catch the breeze of passing travelers.
And suddenly, the bridge collapsed and out he popped on garden floor, entwined with vines not known but shown to be definitely hostile and hungry.
To find the stone and not complain and get back home again, began his search of mind enclosed in the limitation of timespace quantum leap.
And there, shining in the darkness, the glistening not too stable and less familiar morphing conundrum of that which is but is not.
"Let's make a deal," he croaked to snapping vines. "I take the stone and go on my way, you can eat the lizards."
He tore the vines from his flesh, bled and soared. It was hard to grasp and get the living stone into his bag but such he did and began the homeward hum.
"Nothing but costume jewelry," said his mentor. "Next time remember to pull the choke."
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