Grind

The area below is increddibly dense with piqued Ones, all coated with a friendly layer of One-Eight-Ones with reasonably frequent passings of a Seventeen or a Ninteen now and again. Twenties were prevelant, once again, and the density of ringlets kept decreasing ahead, so my pair crept forward in spite of the occational high-speed Twenty. Not nearly as fast as I've travelled, but fast compared to the rate at which I've been moving.

Battering it's way through the One-Eight-Ones, the Twenty slowed, and began to succumb to the sympathetic fempto-vibrations that I'd been detecting in the deep background. The Twenty began to loop and zig-zag its way back in our direction, and pass in the opposite direction. None of this, really, in a single motion, for the Twenty was being batted about in the sticky soup that happens when One-Eight-Ones are floating lots of other things.

Pushed or pulled, I really had no clue, but a path was evident. No amount of spin doctoring in the ringlet made any real difference, and what changes could be made were quickly damped by some random One-Eight-One in the soup. Viatal yet annoying: these One-Eight-Ones. If I see one more of them pop a naked One at me again, I might have to learn some new techniques for dancing on an Eight.