2024-06-21 - SHE and she

"I am 'she'." She whispered to no one; she hoped someone nearby was awake enough to hear, so she could make sure that sounded right. Maybe someone nearby also was a she! What did 'she's talk about?

SHE was love. And she was terrible. Portoro and her companions were safe with Gwillanth and that was what Portoro wanted to be. She knew that much; she had always known that much.

"Not! Gwillanth...not SHE. Just...'she.'" A small 'she.' "I like it."

Realizing the stillness of the hour and that she had to likely wake someone up to speak with them, she fell back into a hum, never allowing true silence, and began to think about what that meant.

'She's were mothers. Sometimes. That was the big sun and the little stars. That was the big, overwhelming love that enveloped each of their small shells. Portoro fancied herself something like that - like a big sun that was good and warm and ready to curl up around all of the little suns.

But one problem with that was that there weren't any little suns around which Portoro could curl.

There had been a dull spark that slithered very close at a late hour a while back, its thoughts hungry and boring and leaving Portoro uneasy; Gwillanth had moved quickly and then it had gone. It wasn't like a sun but it had been smaller. Did she want that?

Another issue was colors, again. Gwillanth was 'gold' and that had seemed to be great and terrible to some. But Gwillanth was not always great and terrible. The minds around her acted differently when they believed one was great and terrible, and Portoro was not sure she liked that feeling, either.

One that wasn't Pertemarth had put the eggs there. This was FATHER. And "He" and "FATHER" were no fun at all. The feelings that went with FATHER in the big minds should have been with Pertemarth, Portoro reasoned. Pertemarth was here all of the time. He was good. She could only assume then that the big minds could not hear each other, and could not sense the mind-bubbles. They were simply confused.

She had heard "green." Green was like blue and green was "she" but not a mother. Green was small. Portoro was also small. That was alike. Perhaps Portoro was green and therefore not great and terrible. Could green be a big mother-sun?

Perhaps all Portoro needed were small suns in order to be a mother-sun and she simply had not collected them, yet. Perhaps she was a little sun here to protect the other little suns.

She hadn't the slightest idea how to do that in her shell, but she could at least keep her companions company and let them know she was still here.

Portoro shifted in her shell and continued to hum. It was a quiet and warm little purr, a whisper of thought, a melody without training yet, persistent and small until she drifted into another long stretch of rest.