There are plants there as well - familiar ones, even, great broad green leaves and tendrils and creepers, sickly-sweet eater-plants and towering trees.

The Green recognizes all manner of organisms as belonging to it, but still, it's nice to be chlorophyll again.  He spreads his arms and tastes the sun on his skin.

Where is he?

The top of a tree.

All right.  He leaps.

The low slow rumble of his voice isn't made for giddy giggles, but he tries his best, as he falls.

These bodies know better than to feel damage as pain, after all this time, and he spends a pleasant few moments knitting himself back together.

He stands, and lets his awareness wash slowly outward.

Here the green abuts a new place, red and gray and geometrical; a place it knows but does not touch, except in a few tidy swatches of farmland.

It would be easy enough to appear there in a new body.  But after his long disembodied voyages, he is always more comfortable if he folds himself down into something approaching humanity.  He walks.

He is being watched.

The camouflage is impeccable, but he sees more than light.  There is a red-thing near.

He stops walking, and turns his face toward it.  Lets his arms hang limp at his sides, regards it calmly.

A flutter of leaves, and the thing is gone.

He settles down into a sitting position, leaning his great curved back against a thick tree trunk.

It emerges, slowly, from the foliage.

It is something like a giant praying mantis.  Six slender, graceful limbs.  Four are legs, two are studded along their length with barbs and end in something like hands.  Its wide eyes seem curious, to his human sensibilities.  Its legs fold and unfold smoothly, tracing wide arcs, as it approaches him.

"Do you," he rumbles, "speak?"

It chitters and clicks, at least.

He watches it.

Step, step.

He reaches his hand into his chest, plucks a tuber, and offers it to the creature.

(He has leached this one of its psychedelic properties; just an offering of food.)

It takes the offering in one hand, traces antennae over it.  Doesn't eat it, but puts it into - a pocket on a sort of belt or bag, that he hadn't realized it was wearing until now.

 - ah, if they blend into the foliage, so must whatever they carry.  He smiles to himself.

The creature makes an odd motion with its claw-limbs, as though in imitation of a bow without inclining its head or body; then points one arm away from them, into the forest, and looks at him.

He stands.

It departs.  It doesn't have irises per se, but its head is tilted a bit back, presumably to keep him in its field of vision.

He follows it into the forest.

It leads him, first to a road, then down the road to something like a city.  They stop on the outskirts.  It's a web of roads, with elaborate fountains at the intersections that more of the creatures stop and drink from occasionally; between the roads arranged like city blocks are miniature farms or gardens, or occasionally animal pens or things like silos.  Most of the creatures he can see are much smaller than the one that found him; many of them are tending the miniature farms.

The creature retrieves the fruit he gave it from its pack, and with a whiplike motion of its claw-arm, pitches it toward a pen of sleepy lumbering mammals.

The creature rings a bell; a few more of the creatures look round and scurry their way.  They chitter to each other.