The last few moments of the God's descent were quite rapid. Simultaneously, the darting red flames seemed to lessen in intensity and length. Then, at the second of impact, they brightened again to previous power—but too late. The impact was hard.
Grg and Yrl gasped as one of the God's double-tentacles buckled, crumpled, with a glinting of shiny-hard material. The flames stopped.
The God, unable to remain erect with its injury, slowly toppled. Its body thudded silently, stirring pumice dust. It was motionless.
Grg and Yrl stared at each other.
Was the God fatally injured? Dying? Dead? (For a broken tentacle meant that fluids would seep out, and soon the dry-death would occur.)
The God stirred.
It braced two sets of tentacles against the ground, as if trying to push itself erect. The effort was not successful. Again it was motionless. The two double-tentacles remained outstretched, however—and they pointed at the shadows where Grg and Yrl waited and watched.
Grg and Yrl sighed in relief.
The God had assumed conversation-position.
It must have healed its broken tentacle—truly a God! Soon it would be as good as new; for otherwise, agony would forbid conversation.