Caduceus leaned against the railing of the Squall-Eater, watching two birds from a nearby island loudly arguing over a fish. He sipped his tea, intent on the action.
“Language is incredible,” he said. “We make these slightly differentiated sounds, gestures, marks with our bodies strung together into collective symbols of abstract meaning and it lets an entirely separate consciousness partly understand our brain places. Absolutely incredible.
“We make meaning by slapping face tentacles against bone and flesh flaps. Or waving our arm branches around. That’s so bizarre and cool. What are other life forms doing right under our noses that seem like nothing at all? Are the trees signing to each other in slow motion?
“The smell of fresh cut grass on a sunny green spring is the organism screaming in terror to warn the others of danger. That’s so amazing! Our species never came up with that. You can see them react to real intention to hurt them differently from an empty threat. Plants have whole lives & we’re just too arrogant to recognize intelligence so different from our own. We’re probably life-stealing monsters by devouring them, if I’m being honest. There are probably smarter trees than chickens.”
Fjord stood at the rigging, the rope forgotten in his hands. He glanced up at the birds and back to Caduceus looking completely baffled. “What?”
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