Meteoric Spiderbutt

[MoffWenn]

Neh'vahn. I was liking his name the more I thought about it. It was nice to have something to connect to in this otherworldly... world, with its wrong colors, mean grass, and ugly temperatures. My legs gave an involuntary twitch as I read — well, interpreted — Neh’vahn’s small dirt pictures. A me, a him, and a circle. Crudely effective. It appeared that he, too, was perplexed at my sudden appearance. That made two of us.

Now, how to explain to him what little I knew? My teeth clicked and chittered together from the slight chill as considered my communication conundrum. Perhaps I could have tried to explain in the priestly language, but that would be useless. Neh’vahn wouldn’t get that. That meant that I was also restricted to pictures. Drawing was not my best skill, but more than that, how was one to explain a fertility festival to a strange slug-man from another reality? Did they have Diunlum here? Oh god. She… existed in this reality too, right?

Right?

I paled. My gazed fixed nervously on the dirt drawings. Uncertainly, I began to draw.

“Let’s see,” I muttered. My foremost right leg reached out to the side of Neh’vahn’s etchings. I attempted to draw the sacred winged spiders, the angels. I also tried to depict the summoning circle my group of acolytes made to call them. Lastly, I attempted to draw a very sad goddess with lovely wings and a robe and spider legs. Surely, she was missing her priestly Acolyte. It… looked like garbage. Like garbage drawing done by a scrawny Spynsterling. But maybe Neh’van would understand some of it? Who was I kidding? Bitch can't read that much out of my half-assed not-art.

I couldn’t help but let a soft, angry scree and shiver again. The cold was starting to annoy me. “Fuck my ancestors with a rusty hunting knife.”