Three hours was a long time.
Noah doubted he would need most of it. THE Creature had gone to hunt a second appendage that was true, and that was good work for the interval, but the same question had turned itself on Noah the moment their fists crossed. What could he become in three hours?
He had his Osmontian Tongue. He had his Osmontian Biomass, ticking upward with every assertion of the first letter, and six Genesis Tesseracts resting in his existence alongside a good number of cards still folded up his sleeve. He simply needed to get started.
---
The storm-grove had settled by the time he brought them home.
The great blue tree stood quiet over its clearing again, mana falling soft and slow the way it had before rage turned the weather violent. The air of THE Infiniverse buzzed of green growth and clean water, and Noah walked beneath the branches with his mother on one side, his son on the other, and his daughter's small hand held tight in his own.
