Rodney Wilson

A baby Terraling is called a Nestling.

Nestlings don’t run, or jump, or play right away. They stay close, held against warm arms and soft earth. Their tiny ears twitch at every sound, learning the whispers of the wind, the rustling of the trees, and the quiet songs of their people.

For a long time, they don’t open their eyes. They don’t need to.

The world speaks to them in other ways.

They feel the ground breathing beneath them.

They hear the rain before it falls.

They know when someone is near, even if they can’t see them.

Then one day, when the rhythm inside them matches the rhythm of the world, they open their eyes.

It is not a big event. No one claps or cheers.

Because a Terraling only opens their eyes when the world says, “You are ready.”

The First Steps: Learning the World

Now, they are a Wanderling.

Wanderlings are curious but careful.

They don’t rush like human children. They don’t stumble or fall. They move as if they already know where their feet should land.

And as they walk, the world welcomes them.

The trees lean closer, their branches lowering to say hello.

The wind circles around them, whispering in a language only they can hear.

The ground is softer beneath their toes, warm and safe.

This is their time to learn. But not from books or teachers.

They learn by feeling.

They learn by watching.

They learn by listening.

They follow rivers to understand flow.

They climb cliffs to understand stillness.

They watch the sky to understand change.

No one tells them what to do. The world teaches them instead.

Becoming an Adult: A Choice, Not a Rule

Humans grow up because time tells them to.

Terralings grow up when they are ready.

For some, this happens quickly. They feel the shift in just a few years. For others, it takes much longer.

But one day, when the time is right, a Wanderling steps away from the others.

They walk alone.

Not because they are lost, but because they must listen to the world without distraction.

They sit in the quiet.

They breathe.

They wait.

And then, when they know they are ready, they return.

Now, they are Caretakers, Gatherers, or Storytellers.

Now, the community welcomes them as one of their own.

Now, they are fully Terraling.

The Elders: The Listeners of the World

The oldest Terralings are called Elders.

They do not rule.

They do not tell others what to do.

They simply listen.

They press their hands to the earth to greet new Nestlings.

They guide the Wanderlings as they explore.

They sit with the ones who are ready to grow, waiting for their choice.

And when their time comes to leave, they do not fear it.

They press their hands into the soil one last time.

They close their eyes.

And they listen.

The world hums its goodbye.

And somewhere, deep in the earth, another hum begins.

Not an end. A beginning.

A Terraling’s ears are not just for hearing. They are sensitive to everything, a living radar, tuned to the world’s quietest signals.

They do not simply hear sound. They feel it.

A whisper of wind carries meaning.

A vibration in the earth tells a story.

The pause between sounds holds as much weight as the sound itself.

Their ears move instinctively, attuned to what has not yet arrived. A heartbeat before it races. A footstep before it lands. The breath of an animal before it stirs.

To a Terraling, every movement, every stillness, every shift in space is part of a language.

The Body as a Conduit of Energy

A Terraling does not just listen with its ears, it listens with its entire being.

Their skin is porous, not to keep the world out, but to let it in.

They feel warmth before it touches them.

They sense a presence before they see it.

They read the shift in temperature, the pull of unseen forces, the charge in the air before a storm.

To touch a Terraling is impossible for humans. Their skin absorbs everything, heat, emotion, energy. A human’s touch, the oils of their skin, would disrupt the delicate balance they exist in.

This is why they are careful. Why they do not rush toward human contact.

Why they hesitate to be seen.

A Terraling does not exist in the world.

It becomes part of it.

Why Children Hear What Adults Cannot

A child does not listen with expectation. They listen with wonder.

Where an adult questions, a child accepts.

Where an adult dismisses, a child trusts.

This is why a child can hear a Terraling when an adult hears only silence.

They do not second-guess a flicker at the edge of vision.

They do not search for explanations in the rustling of leaves.

They simply know.

And so the Terralings know them in return.

This is why children stop mid-step, eyes locked on something unseen.

Why they reach toward nothing and smile.

They are not imagining.

They are not making up stories.

They are remembering something adults have

The Pulse of Emotion, A Deeper Connection

Humans talk about intuition. But for a Terraling, feeling is not a guess, it is a knowing.

Emotion does not stay inside them. It moves through them, rippling outward like water, shifting the air, carrying weight even when unspoken.

When a Terraling is calm, the air is warm.

When a Terraling is afraid, the wind withdraws.

When a Terraling trusts, the space between you feels smaller, closer, lighter.

To them, emotion is not hidden. It is a force, a current moving through the world like breath, like sound, like light.

This is why humans struggle to understand them.

Because humans hide their feelings.

Because humans say one thing but feel another.

A Terraling does not hear what you say.

It hears what you are.

A Moment of Understanding

The world is quiet, but not silent. You close your eyes. You breathe.

For the first time, you feel the space around you, not as empty air, but as something alive, something waiting.

A shift in the leaves.

A whisper in the stillness.

Your skin tingles. The air thickens.

And then, for just a moment, you know.

Not in words.

Not in thought.

But in the deepest part of yourself.

A Terraling is there.

It has always been there.

Waiting for you to listen.

A Day In The Life Of A Terraling

If you were still enough, if you could quiet the ticking in your mind, the need to move, to measure, to chase you might feel it too.

The hum beneath your feet. The breath of the earth shifting before dawn. The stillness before the wind stirs.

This is their world. But only if you can slow down enough to notice.

The Forest Wakes

Not all at once.

The light doesn’t break through, it spills, pours, stretches, touching the highest leaves before it reaches the ground. The wind moves first, carrying the breath of morning. Then the trees, swaying just enough to whisper to each other. Then the river, rolling over stone with the sound of something ancient, something patient.

And then, just before the world fully opens its eyes, the Terralings stir.

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They do not wake suddenly. There is no rush, no panic, no alarm that forces them from sleep.

There is only a shift.

A ripple in the air, a pulse in the earth, something felt, not heard.

If you were near, if you were paying attention, you might sense it too. The quiet before movement. The pause before breath. The knowing.

A Terraling does not wake to the rising of the sun, but to the rhythm of the world itself.

And just as one wakes, another moves.

Terralings rarely stay still for long. They slip between moments, shifting like the wind. And yet, if you watch closely, you might notice something, the slight differences between them.

That’s because no two Terralings are exactly alike. In their close knit families, many share similar features, but each carries a presence all their own. Sometimes, in a blink, one sibling steps in where another just was, their movements so fluid it’s hard to tell them apart. It’s not that they vanish, it’s that they are always becoming.

Morning Among the Unseen

Their bodies are small, but their presence is vast.

They stretch, breathe, press their palms into the earth, feeling the heartbeat of the land before they begin to move. The forest hums with life, and the Terralings listen.

They do not move like humans. They do not rush. They do not break the silence with clumsy footsteps or restless hands.

They flow.

One moment, hidden within the roots of a tree. The next, climbing effortlessly through the vines. Their feet never linger too long in one place, not because they are afraid, but because they are part of the movement itself.

If you could see them, really see them, you might wonder if they are ever truly still.

Where the leaves tremble but the wind has not passed, a Terraling was there.

Where the moss is warm though the sun has not yet touched it, a Terraling rested there.

Where the forest suddenly stills, a Terraling listens.

Because the first task of the day is not to move.

It is to feel.

Time, as the Terralings Know It

The world of humans is ruled by numbers , hours, minutes, seconds counted and lost.

The Terralings do not live by the ticking of a clock.

They live by the soft pull of the earth, the slow breath of the wind, the steady pulse of water against stone.

Time is not a thing to be chased. It is a thing to be understood.

A storm does not ask when it will arrive. It simply comes.

A river does not count the seconds before it reaches the ocean. It simply moves.

A Terraling does not race against time. They move with it.

To them, morning is not a set moment, it is the slow unfolding of the light.

Night is not darkness, it is the hum beneath the silence, the breath between dreams.

Their life is not a schedule.

It is a rhythm.

Movement &

Not all movement is visible.

A Terraling can be utterly still, yet more present than anything around them.

They do not sit distracted.

They do not wait impatiently.

They simply exist, fully aware of the now.

And you? How often do you pause? How often do you listen?

In the time it takes a human to check a clock, a Terraling has already heard the shifting of the leaves, the heartbeat of the soil beneath their feet, the wings of an insect moving before it even takes flight.

Stillness is not nothingness.

It is where everything is noticed.

As the Day Unfolds

A Terraling’s day is not one of work, but of balance.

They tend to the forest, not as laborers, but as caretakers.

They do not build houses, because the world shapes itself around them.

They do not hunt, because the land provides what is needed.

Their food is not taken.

It is gifted.

They do not hurry to gather, because the world does not rush to grow.

They do not store for fear of lack, because they trust the rhythm of the land.

What is needed will come.

What is taken will return.

What would it feel like to live this way?

The Descent into Night

The wind slows. The air thickens. The light softens.

The day does not end, it simply folds itself into something quieter.

The Terralings do not wait for darkness to tell them to sleep. They feel the shift long before the stars appear.

Some rest in the hollows of trees, where the wood bends around them like an embrace.

Some disappear into the roots, where the ground is warm and steady.

Some curl into the spaces between, where even the wind does not touch them.

They do not close their eyes as a command.

They drift, sink, fade into the rhythm of the night.

And as the last breath of daylight exhales from the world, the forest does not fall silent. It only whispers.

Beyond the Stillness

Somewhere, beyond the forest, a child stirs.

They do not know why. But something makes them turn toward the window, peering into the night.

A flicker of movement. A shift in the trees.

Nothing is there.

And yet, they feel it

the knowing.

For just a moment, the air holds its breath. The hush before movement. The pause before something unseen vanishes into the night.

The child watches.

And somewhere in the forest, a Terraling watches back.