He was starting to find, with some regret and faint discouragement, that this world was much larger than many others that he'd been on. Here, there was so much to explore, so much to see, so many people to understand. Rubik might not have been the most tactful person, but he had a guilty pleasure of observing people, seeing what they did, trying to get a better view of what their purpose was. Was it to answer a question concerning the meaning of life? Didn't every generation, every civilization, every race, every person, no matter of creed or form of life, make their own answer to that very subject? Rubik did not know, could never really know the answer to the eternal question. But every world he'd wandered, traveling through planes unknown to many others, he found a different answer, an altered conclusion that suited the needs of those whose question it answered. But none could answer his. He had only one: What was his creator? And none could help him.
Rubik was starting to think that perhaps they were dead by now. But he couldn't stop until he knew for sure. Here on this world, things were decidedly different than the others he'd visited. Here humans reigned supreme in a backwards way of living. He couldn't understand it, but in time, he knew he would. Here, his old instincts of observation kicked in and he studied life as it played out. Though still none of it provided the answer he sought most. A Construct must observe though; for that was the purpose with which they were built. To better his assessment, he figured, it would most likely be best to traverse this world by the means of those that lived here. And since horses were scared of him, he would have to use the two legs that remained erect under him. And he walked, walking in the direction that they took him, that of north, or south, or wherever he was going. It didn't really matter anyway; the point being that he was moving.
Soon enough the trees were growing thicker and thicker around him and the racket of wildlife came abound. He walked on without caution or fear of being attacked, which was probably not the smartest thing for a normal mortal. But for him, it only came naturally. He meant no harm to anyone, why should they seek reason to harm him. After several hours the forest became silent and the sun had risen high. Rubik stopped, looking around him. Was something following him that made the indigenous wildlife stop carrying about in their average, daily routines? Rubik was not aware of the birds and small animals that stared at him with fairly bulging eyes, many of which scattered from their positions after having looked long enough.
He proceeded to keep on walking when suddenly something tiny and projectile-like shot out of the air and rebounded on a tree beside him. He bent down to pick up the pointed object made of wood and feathered with a sharp, triangular head that looked threatening. Then a woman spoke, somewhat harshly to his sensitive ears and demanded his appearance. "Oh, I am sorry," he said. "I suppose you want your pointed stick back, don't you?" Rubik came into view of the woman and paused as she aimed another pointed stick at him, this time a little more threateningly.
