The interior of the shack is nearly barren, aside from a circle of carved symbols etched into the shack's far wall, opposite of the door. This 'wall' isn't actually part of the shack, it turns out, but part of the "island" column of canyon wall it is built against.

The area inside the circle looks much less solid that the surrounding rock, almost like quicksand.

The interior circle begins to shift and swirl. The grating sound resolves into recognizable words, though they are as harsh and gritty as the medium through which they are being transmitted.

"Why...are...you...here?"

Roger turns to face the garbled voice but looks down at the sand swirling around his feet.

"Well, buddy, that depends on who I'm talking to. Are you Gustaf... or the Face in the Deepest Burrow?"

"Does it?"

The voice sounds almost amused. Almost.

"I am willing to believe the reason you'll admit to being here depends on who I am, but the reason itself is more rigid than that."

The grains of sand swirl to create 3D pictures akin to the dull pin toys from the late 20th century. It resembles a human face, but not Gustaf.

"You must be Roger. The women, Marcy and Wren. The others, I do not know."

The ground rumbles ever so slightly.

"You can call me Ceto. Now, with that out of the way...why are you here?"

Ceto!!" Roger gasps.

He quickly genuflects and motions others to do the same.

"Dude I am talking to a planet! I'm so sorry -- this is just what I wear like... I didn't expect to be seeing you."

"I guess I'm actually here for three reasons. First, I think you're awesome. You've got so many like, awesome features. Those little Dillon things, Waspers -- even though they kinda suck , great gravity and climate, the Joss, the Talpids, breatheable atmosphere. Water! Fucking water! You are such a great planet..."

Roger takes a pause.

"Which leads me to the second reason I'm here, which I didn't realize until now. There are beings like me who have been travelling through space and are super desperate to have a planet to stand and live on after so many years. But my people can be really, like, rough on the ecology. There's a strong chance they'll destroy you or parts of you just so they can live and enjoy their existence. They're also very curious about the universe, though. They want to learn. And the best of them want to preserve all the strange, beautiful things they find. Respect. I'm one of those people. There's one of us to every ten who aren't, though. So, here's my question: are you cool with people living on you and trying to bend you to their puny will? I've been telling them no, but I kinda need to hear it from you to speak with any kind of authority."

The grainy picture in the sand shifts into the shapes of various settlements. The Joss compound, an island, a camp, a large domed structure sitting atop a mountain range.

"There are many settlers here already. There have been more, and less, in the past. There may be more, or less, in the future. Such is the way of sentients. They come and go, ebbing and flowing like the tides themselves. It is an honor and privilege to nourish any who come looking for shelter."

"I appreciate your concern for my possible exploitation. I have been exploited before. The perpetrating species never persist for long. They reap what they sew."

The pictures fade back into the not-human face.

"Are there other questions you would ask of me?"

Roger pauses to think.

"And so you're cool with humans coming down. OK, just double checking. I'll pass the word along. Is there any part of you that's like, out of balance? Do you need help with anything? Which sentients came here? And which ones were made here?"

"I do not often learn the...names..." the voice says. The sand swirls to create the image of an alien that appears to have a snake-like lower body and a humanoid torso. "These were the ones who built many of the structures that remain on the surface, but they are not native to here. No native race has reached the stars. And few of them remain at all."

"Right on, OK. So what other cool shit do you have planned for the next several thousand years? New subspecies of bwan? Like, what's in the works?"

"I do not plan. I simply am, and I allow others to be, or not be, as their actions dictate."

"Yeah but you gotta have like a will or a... uh, a preference, right?" Roger asks as he stands up. "Can you show me all the races? What were the others? When did they come here? That domed place -- what about the other structures? Can you show me everything?"

"When you measure time the way I do, you look at things like preferences a bit differently."

The sand swirls into a myriad of unrecognizable faces.

"I could show you more, but not if you want to speak with your friend. This is not easy for him, and we have already spoken for longer than usual."