Baetylus sat motionless, the meatform’s head in its hands, considering the implications of this realization. The Elders had banished him to practice weaving. He required an audience to appraise his work. The barely sentient inhabitants of this backwater world were incapable of viewing that work.
He would die here, he realized. He would never be allowed to return. Had they realized? Perhaps that had been their plan all along. They could not banish him directly, so they had found an alternate method by which to accomplish this. Or perhaps they had expected that despair would drive him to suicide and Omphalos would appoint another weaver to take his place.
That assumed, of course, that Omphalos could even see him in this world, this dimension.
The meatforms were fragile. Destroying his would be easy. Perhaps it would even release his consciousness and let him return to his home. Or perhaps it would simply bring nothingness. Either was acceptable.
“There are other lifeforms on the planet,” Baetylus whispered to himself. “Not just the apes. I can’t give up. Not yet.”
He looked up and saw some now, a flock of them, small feathered things with scaly feet and beady eyes. “Hey!” he shouted at them. “Hey, come here! I have to show you something!”
The creatures paid him no mind, and they only fled from him as he ran closer, flying away into the sky.
He was dimly aware that this would not help him appear more sane to the apes trying desperately to ignore him. He didn’t care.