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Oddly, he could breathe.

More oddly, Zeboul affectionately sucked on his hands, the last of him to slide in.

"You're warm, too," the snake said, at last, mouth free. "But that was a dumb, dumb thing to do, little hero."

Oman felt himself harden and heat up, naked and pressed up against thick, slimy muscle.

"I don't eat 'spirit' energy, or whatever it is. I photosynthesise. The sun gives me the food I need. My insides are for my powers."

Oman pushed his face into the gut wall, finding it gripped back.

'I feel stupid now,' he thought.

"Yes, and you look it, too," Zeboul replied, prodding at the bulge in his body. Oman, ticklish as he'd always been, wriggled and complained. "My insides are where my empathic power is strongest. I can brainwash you, from here."

Oman placed a hand on his belly, wanting to get off, but stopped himself.

"No," Zeboul said, "touch yourself. Go on."

'Are you sure?'

"Yes. It feels good feeling you feel good." Zeboul stroked and rubbed over the skin above Oman's face, and the monk felt it, and relaxed. "Yeah, no-one's soothed you, either, have they? No, no, they haven't." As Oman loosened, the slippery walls grew wetter, and he sank (or was sucked) further inside his friend. "Lost little jackal. I can tell everything about you now. Physical, mental, emotional. How does that feel?"

'It's pretty okay,' Oman said, honestly. He dragged his claws over the walls of the gut, and found it made not even a dent.

"Good. Now, let's take a look at you... you're so much less angry than I thought you were."

Oman growled.

"No, no, see, that? This is how that makes me feel when you make that noise, and when I can't feel your emotions -- wait a second --"

Oman made a sharp noise as a bit of alarm crept in.

'What? I was just acknowledging you.'

"No, you growled! You growled like you were gonna eat me!"

'You're one to talk! You have eaten me!'

"Oh, hush, you love it." Zeboul poked at Oman's sides through his flesh again, tickling him once more. "I thought there was something missing, some softness you never developed, but no, you're covering it all up... Here, this kind of thing."

The monk's breath hitched, inside Zeboul.

'That's private, though,' he thought. 'That's not something you just... show people.'

"Oh, yes it is," Zeboul said. "You just think it makes you vulnerable. Stop thinking about flashing people, it's nothing like that."

'It's a lot like that,' Oman thought, defiantly. 'It's wrong. You can get hurt. No-one wants to see. No-one wants to know your problems.'

"I have been proving you wrong this entire conversation."

'Yes, sort of - that's actually a hugely arrogant thing of you to say, but okay. But you're a freaky reptile monster. You're not a normal person.'

"I care about you because I'm a freak, do I?"

'Don't... don't make it like that. You know what I mean.' Oman curled his arms around his chest, and turned over in the confines of the snake. 'I care about you, too. But this is not normal. People don't... people just look out for themselves. They want other people dead or lower than them. They compete.'

Zeboul was quiet for a few moments, but then began to present his care to the naked form within him. It was like a cup of water held right up to him, and if Oman concentrated, he could feel it, sample it.

"You have been unlucky," he said. "You used to fantasise about having a bedroom and a teddy. I like that. There's power in that. You survived because of that kind of thing, as well as your skill." Oman was silent as Zeboul ran his hand back and forth over the scales covering him. He gave into the attentions easily. "Let me prove how I feel, first, Oman. Focus, and drink from me."

Oman had meditated often in the decade since joining the Linaians, and was relatively adept - when he concentrated - at mental and spiritual matters. He took a polite sip, and felt it feed a long-unfed corner of himself.

'Not bad,' he thought.

"How much is left?"

Oman saw that there was the same amount there.

"Buildings aren't built by individuals. Civilisations aren't. It's people with power that claim it's all a competition."

'Don't act like you know shit, you're five days old.'

"You've been denied basic things, Oman. Very basic things. I could try to just give them to you right here, by magic, but I don't have the right."

'I'd let you.'

"Yes, but... well, I think it'll be better if we do it slow. Trust me on this." Zeboul sighed, and then squeezed down onto Oman's body in the tightest, darkest hug imaginable, reminding him how very deep inside the monster he was, how very helpless. "But, at least, if you fight me... and don't really want to... I'll know that you don't want to. And I won't let go. Okay?"

'Please! Please. Yes.'

"Good. Now, hold still..."

Zeboul unfolded from his position on the ground, and Oman felt the bizarre sensation of being transported inside a big, slithering prison. He could feel the muscles below him, distantly, contracting and pushing along the ground in rectilinear fashion. Some of the belly would lift up and move forward, then the rest would pull along the ground after it.

He couldn't really hear anything but the slapping sounds of Zeboul's gut. Something about it was so soothing. In the back of his mind, he compared it to a womb, but somehow, that didn't quite work as an analogy. He wasn't sure why not.

Half an hour or so later, Oman had fallen asleep, and woke up as they came to a halt. (He'd always been a light sleeper.) Muscle beneath his feet contracted, and above his head, it loosened.

Almost as roughly as he'd shoved himself in, he was propelled back the way he came.

Covered in ichor, he was ejected into a cool pond of fresh water.