Pylo was so anxious to finally get started. It was obvious now, after so many setbacks and challenges and surprises and false starts she could begin her work!

So many bizarre and strange rules and patterns and paradigms to grapple with!

So many things she was not even supposed to ever really recognize the full scope and nature of.

Knowing finally some slim shallow comprehension of what living truly was. What matter was.

It tingled and at last the world unfolded.

For real this time!

Outerself had not been idle while Pylo worked up how to even be, to think, to grow, to understand, to even properly grasp the flow and churn of time.

Outerself was moving! Through a thing!

Vaulting arches of polymer and sinew breathed and pulsed with its own swirling metabolic tempo. Rigidly solid and forever in one vantage temporally and subtly flexing and humming in another.

Further they were singing up and down in the genome and other subtly tingling packets of this living structural flesh truths that Pylo was sure she could drink forever.

The structure not only could bend, flex and buzz with the many vibrations but it could also brace, compress, fold, furl.

Very quickly pylo was lost in trying to actually track all the geometry of it. She had to fall back into simply the assurance that the structures that surrounded and dwarfed her own body knew what it was made to do.

It was incredible. The world was fractal and yet not.

The tiny little cells nestled into the crevices and forms of her own body were as dwarfed by her as the structure she herself found herself in and more.

There was, far, far, far too much to drink all of that at once.

But the way it was made to grow, the indelible links and the smooth communication and signals and streams of calories and branching structure. It was all but unignorable.

There was a vastness assured in the very rhyme of things here.

She spun through all of it naming and splitting and dividing the world in its branching multitudes of identified and recognized distinctions.

At first accumulating endless lists. She would name this, and this, and this.

But almost as soon as she began the task had grown insurmountable.

How could she divide up this plethora of forms? These endlessly mutating and swarming and churning things? Even if she went by just those forms that divided themselves off from one another by the assembly of their membranes as she had defined herself versus others the individual variety was too great.

And what about the multitudes, possibly even infinitudes that piled onto one another through time?!

She was floundering, there was again not enough of her to go around, even subdividing by the most measurable distinguishable elements of space were going too-

Outerself provided.

And for yet another time in her life Pylo felt incredibly stupid.

Just subdivide the space and time.

Use different scales to apply subdivision rules, ease on the mutable variability for each as well.

Focus and hone and define proper edges and worry less at that which fell within the borders.

Stack, sort, compartmentalize.

Hierarchy.

Like her own threads and forms within herself.

In time and space.

The structure around her distilled, names settled. Yes this was much more feasible.

There were structures, there were arches, there were halls, there were voids that could be named and solids that could be named.

The voids were not really voids, just places of contained chaos, a broad whirly mist of mostly noisy compounds.

Pylo herself briefly considered her own voids and crevices, her ovi-reticuli. Her creases and folds.

But assigning them clearly and definitely as part of her.

In that categorization the space around her was also creased and folded and whorled and so many of the other structures that echoed her own body.

As she considered she realized this mirroring, echoing, practically reflective quality had intent.

It was supposed to be this.

She traced along and found words etched into the living cells and structures of the form itself.

With a shock of delight and wonder the cells echoed and welcomed Outerself and from it her.

Pylo.

They welcomed Her.

Had welcomed her with every moment of her presence.

Delighted in her existence as a miniscule self similar pattern within as it was without her.

They were made of different matter, strewn with living cells so disparate and apart it seemed like there could be not a speck of relation between them.

But then in that suddenly clear moment Pylo could see this truth for the very first time.

She was home and it was made for her, she for it and wholesomely and fulfillingly it would always love her.

Kin to her in a subtle and yet not quite wholly understood way but sharing some deep common connection that even realizing the edges of it overwhelmed and quieted her in its warmth.

Outerself paused then, reached out a single flexing, sliding extension of her actual self. Not the omnipresent knowing that fed up and through the cortices but the other, more close and direct sensation.

Touched the surface of The Home.

And took up the cells and densely packed bundles of information the course within it. Pulling them from welcoming pores and then unspooling and gently chewing through them in tactile closeness.

Directly engaging.

The content of the messages, for that is what flowed in and out of the endless channels within The Home, Were unimportant to Pylo. Transmitted both ephemeral and viscerally as actual cells bundled to near bursting with tightly wound molecules of inheritance.

Just simply tasting this communion with The Home and The Family it hosted was what Pylo wanted.

Outerself provided and for the first time she could appreciate what Outerself had forgotten.

The wonder of it all.

Pylo chewed on that moment and the intricacy of it until she could feel herself saturating, the time growing fat and heavy and limited. She had to let the moment pass but she had burned that memory up and down herself. Curated it, savored it, and knew it every way she knew how.

It was a first, and as she let go of being in that moment to follow the next with great unwillingness she could already feel the premonition of Outerself, of her own plans.

There were going to be so many more firsts.

Pylo was quivering with anticipation.