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S(he)

He was awakening. The stiffness of sleep held him tight within its arms. The winter stars were wrapped in sheathes of time about his legs and lower body. From somewhere outside of himself he could feel a growing sense of urgency. A warmth. A remembering. He needed to remember. Wanted to remember. But a great fog of darkness still held him. Whispered to him. Wanted him to remain within it.

Somewhere. Somewhere.

‘Here.Here.’ He could sense his own voice outside of himself. A movement beyond his own vision. A feeling. No more. 

Shapes formed around him. He felt a tightening within him. A gnarled, knotted network of strength that rooted him down began to pull up from deep beneath him. Answering a deeper call from the pressing darkness around him.

There it was again. And again. A pulse. A throb. A release of heat into what he could feel awakening above him.

‘I must move,’ the thought, if that was what it was, an impulse, a command, came into his consciousness. He felt the pull upwards. Strong. Ancient. Remembering. 

He knew he lay between roots, trunk, branch, leaves to be and the great emptiness of sky.

Something was tracing upon his still bound hands. Patterns. Repeated. And again.

‘Runes,’ the shapes, became sounds. The sounds, familiar, became repeated, and grew into words. The darkness around him began to thin. Began to dissipate. Light, for that was what he remembered, slipped between the stars and spread in warmth around him.

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