Noah made his way toward the indicated plot, his movement careful and deliberate. He was acutely aware of being observed with the kind of attention given to children who had wandered into an adult workspace. The other Fold Dwellers didn't stop their work, but he could feel their ancient gazes tracking his progress.
The Seventh Contemplation Grove rose before him like a monument to impossible agriculture.
The trees here were different from the stellar giants elsewhere…more refined, more purposeful. Their trunks were white as fresh paper, inscribed with patterns that might have been words if words had been invented yet.
Fruits hung from their branches like condensed thoughts. Each one was perfectly spherical, about the size of his fist, and contained within their translucent skin swirled galaxies of compressed potential.
Noah reached out to touch one, and information flooded his consciousness.
