Written flesh thoughts

Andre was a lonely man by planter Standards

The wind patterns on the day he was born took him away and placed them  on a grassy hill where he promptly took root, there was of course other planters around him, but they were far away enough from where he had settled that they had to shout for them to hear him, which meant conversations usually went like this:

"YOU NEED ANYTHING DUDE?"

"NO!"

"OK!"

at least they had the care to have some of the  people from below hand them some items and join in the local trade line, he did not have much to share, only his imagination in  passed around paper and nothing more.

That was how he spended the rest of his day around: passing around stories and visuals, which by the day were becoming more and more scarce as he started running out of ideas, he made sure way to keep enough savings, by night they would close  their skin flaps, and spend the night in his wet fleshy insides counting the scraps until he got tired and fell asleep, by day he usually would be either woken up by himself or by a Messenger coming with news or requests of comissions, which he would do so if the pay was good and reasonable

At least that was his routine until he heard the  screams

They were high pitched, almost like a instrument if it were a pitch higher

They opened themselves up, the sunlight momentarily blinding their eyes





(Battery low gonna write this later, basic plot so i don't forget: andre will help a young coat man survive a attack of a skinflesh walker by spraying his acid on it, they will slowly become friends until something happens (maybe a disaster or a fetus people attack that would require the planters to be moved? )