He swam in black water, forgetting everything.Losing his form, melting away.But in that dissolution, the illusion was also dissolved.He was many, and he was one.He sang, a plaintive tune, a remembrance, a prayer.All of his voices took it up, trembling it out through every branch and root, through heart and blood and bone.I want to go home, he sang.I want to go home.Glim woke gasping, spitting water from his mouth, remembering the ache closing in on his chest.He smelled his own terror, and remembered more — his heart stopping, the cold, nothingness.
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Then he understood that he wasn't just thinking of her — she was looking down at him anxiously.His skin felt tight, itchy, and he was shivering.
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His mind was full of shifting images and half thoughts, as if he were back home, touching the root of the City Tree but stronger, stranger, freer.The trees — » «You hear them now,» she said.Better — more — it's like you're one of them, Glim.I was sure I died.But his face wasn't exactly the same.
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