They had come to talk to a mountain.

The mountain replied in gentle babbling of a stream, birdsong, rustling of green leaves, needles, wind. A snap or crunch here or there as an animal, unafraid of the visitor, made its way across dried vegetation. Colored wildflowers, shafts of sunlight through a tall canopy or sparkles off cool water, low shade a watching creature might hide in, soft earth.

It didn’t seem like English, quite. It seemed more like nature.

“I need to know how my life can possibly continue.”

It was hard to hear the mountain through the nature, because the visitor was experiencing screams, rapidly cycling flashbacks, and diversely vivid torturous visions from their mind control programs.

Another figure came out from a shady area. They hobbled, like something was injured about them, and they were covered in soil and vegetation. But through this covering could be seen drawn broken glass, like that of the visitor.

“Are you trying to talk with the mountain?”

“Yes.”

The camouflaged figure looked at the stream, swaying forest canopy, boulders and wildflowers, and upstream to where the water came from, and back at the visitor, before speaking again.

“Most people who come here talk silently with the mountain. I’ve tried to do that for a long time, but for me it’s hard to feel what it says, because of all the screams in my ears.”

The visitor looked at the resident after they said this, and after a pause the resident spoke more.

“Instead, I’ve been guessing what a mountain might say, and I’ve started roleplaying speaking for the mountain.”

The resident looked at the visitor this time, 

(reached inhibition sadly but intro was nice and has calmingness) (