Down from the immense wheel came pouring cataracts of green fires.

They cascaded over the cones; deluged them; engulfed them.
Beneath that radiant inundation the cones grew.

Perceptibly their volume increased--as though they gorged themselves upon the light.

No--it was as though the corpuscles flew to them, coalesced and built themselves into the structure.
Out and further out upon the base of crystal they crept.

And higher and higher soared their tips, thrusting, ever thrusting upward toward the whirling wheel that fed them.
Now from the Keeper's planes writhed the Keeper's tangle of tentacles, uncoiling eagerly, avidly, through the twenty feet of space between their source and the enigmatic mechanism they manipulated.