The druid was starting to feel, and he didn't like it.
There was sand, pressing against him. Sand, shifting in rhythm with his breathing (he was breathing, he had a heartbeat). There was sand above him, between his fingers, soft and gritty along his skin.
It seemed to him that there was a time when he could ignore the sand. When he was just dry and dry was all he needed. There was no water here, and he was parched from it. Parched and safe.
No, no, wrong, and he pressed himself further into sleep, further into unconsciousness. He didn't exist. He didn't want to exist. He didn't need to exist, and therefore there was nothing here, nothing but sand...
...sand that moved as he breathed.
The druid's spirit squirmed, fitfully, pressing towards consciousness even as he dragged it back. If he was awake then the tide of power would sweep over him again, channel through him like the oceans of the world through the head of a pin. He would die this time, he was sure of it.
But what if he didn't.
Two more of the minds, the minds that kept calling his name, slipped out of his control. One he was gentle with, soft, because if she had to go then --
-- how did he know her.
Who was she.
He couldn't remember.
No, he could remember. He just didn't want to.
He felt her approaching, could hear the sand ripple with the noise of her footsteps, soft as the wind through a bird's wing. She was approaching him.
He smoothed the sand above him, automatically, reflexively. All the better to transmit her voice.
There was sand, pressing against him. Sand, shifting in rhythm with his breathing (he was breathing, he had a heartbeat). There was sand above him, between his fingers, soft and gritty along his skin.
It seemed to him that there was a time when he could ignore the sand. When he was just dry and dry was all he needed. There was no water here, and he was parched from it. Parched and safe.
No, no, wrong, and he pressed himself further into sleep, further into unconsciousness. He didn't exist. He didn't want to exist. He didn't need to exist, and therefore there was nothing here, nothing but sand...
...sand that moved as he breathed.
The druid's spirit squirmed, fitfully, pressing towards consciousness even as he dragged it back. If he was awake then the tide of power would sweep over him again, channel through him like the oceans of the world through the head of a pin. He would die this time, he was sure of it.
But what if he didn't.
Two more of the minds, the minds that kept calling his name, slipped out of his control. One he was gentle with, soft, because if she had to go then --
-- how did he know her.
Who was she.
He couldn't remember.
No, he could remember. He just didn't want to.
He felt her approaching, could hear the sand ripple with the noise of her footsteps, soft as the wind through a bird's wing. She was approaching him.
He smoothed the sand above him, automatically, reflexively. All the better to transmit her voice.
Reply
Leave a comment