She ran forward but then halted suddenly, foiled by the little ditch (which Ket generously referred to as a moat) that surrounded the pedestal of my central altar (which was really just a pile of flat stones). She reached grabby hands in Binky's direction, whining pitifully when she realized she still couldn't reach him despite him being tantalizingly close—much closer than usual.
Binky watched her impassively, unmoving. Then, at a mental prompt from me, he used his chelicerae to start cleaning his fangs, just like a cat using a paw to clean behind its ears.
The young girl clapped her hands together, letting out a delighted noise that was so high-pitched it made even Ket wince. She stayed there for several moments, transfixed by Binky's antics, until one of the older juveniles slouched over to retrieve her.
Ideally, it should have been one of the nurses who'd come to find her. However, the requirements for the creche building had specified only one nurse for every ten juveniles. This had seemed reasonable to me at the time of building. Now that I'd had plenty of opportunity to witness what a handful most of these kids were, though, that ratio seemed frankly ridiculous. It was almost as though the building’s prerequisites had been set by someone with zero experience of children.
Pfft. Gods.
The teenage gnome cast a surly glance at Binky but otherwise ignored him. After some persuasion—and a bribe involving several blueberries skewered on a stick—he and the little girl left us, hand in hand, the latter casting longing looks back over her shoulder until they were out of sight.
"You know, those denizens born in the creche are so much more comfortable around my god-born than those who were here first," I mused. "I wonder how much of it is an age thing?"
"That's an interesting point," said Ket. "Younger generations generally are more adaptable, it's true."
"And more accepting of things that are a bit different from themselves," I added pointedly.
"It isn't that I don't accept Binky! I'm trying, you know I am."
"I know. I'm teasing. I just can't comprehend how anyone could be frightened of spiders. Although," I conceded, "when the spider in question is several times larger than you, I suppose it makes sense. Still, it hasn't stopped the young ones from learning to like Binky. Perhaps the older gnomes—and you, Ket—just need longer."
"Perhaps not," she replied softly. "Look!"
The pair of acolytes who'd run away had re-emerged from their home looking rather sheepish. After much bickering, they made their way slowly back up the hill, taking it in turns to push each other ahead, presumably so the one behind would have time to escape if Binky decided to snack on the one in front.
They reached the top and stood there, cringing. Binky stared down at them. He didn't look hungry; he'd stopped cleaning his mouthparts at my command, and was now still as a statue as he regarded the two acolytes before him. They gradually relaxed.
The acolytes stood there as though waiting for instructions from my eight-legged guardian. For my own amusement, I had him wave one leg at them, as if to say "Proceed."
They glanced at each other, then back at Binky. Then they shrugged, knelt, and bowed their heads.
Cerulean lines, visible only to Ket and me, flowed across the space between the acolytes' bodies and my gem. As always, my denizens' active worship provided me with mana, which was stored in my gem ready to be used when needed. A visual representation of my mana level was always visible in the right side of my Augmentary: eight translucent globes, each narrowly connected to the next by a narrow line, like a long bulbous hourglass.
Eight globes, one for each god tier I'd attained during my time as the god of gnomes. At the moment, every globe was full, pulsing slightly with the glowing blue mana they contained. Many of my God Core abilities required the use of mana; however, on this latest expedition the only one I'd made use of was Double Sight, which cost me nothing.
Just because my mana was full didn't mean the acolytes’ worship was fruitless. When the flowing blue lines reached my gem, instead of drinking them in thirstily, the purple crystal glowed almost imperceptibly, gently rejecting the excess mana and redistributing it to our surroundings. Up until the battle for the Grotto, I'd been so busy creating god-born and using my new abilities to otherwise inspire and provide for my denizens—not to mention defend them against our enemies—that a full set of mana globes had been a rare sight indeed.
Lately, though, I'd had little on which to spend my mana once I was done regrowing the shroomtree fields and replenishing my fallen god-born creatures. The excess mana provided by worshiping gnomes instead spread out to rejuvenate the nearby environment. My moss was lusher, my shroomtrees taller and stronger. Bugs and fish were more plentiful, and even the badgers became more compliant.
In turn, all of these things gave off more ambient mana than usual, a reflection of their general wellbeing which spread out further to enhance the life in an even wider radius, like a happy plague. I'd begun spotting plants and insects I'd never seen before, in the outer tunnels as well as in the caverns close to the Grotto.
The Grotto itself had never looked so green and vibrant. It was a far cry from the state in which I'd first found it. My SOI was flourishing—as were my denizens.
The gnomes' morale was higher than ever, and they had more energy, which meant
