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The shade floated above the blighted land as he examined her unselfish gift. Mother never disappointed. Never let him down. Especially now.
His feet yearned for solid earth to trust in but she teased him to entertain the possibilities.
With outstretched hands, Sutra reached into oblivion, tugging at the unseen. The truth of the void had been but a fragment of his imagination. Sweat beaded on his trembling brow. The Darkness intimately encased him in her hot caress.
Shapes and voices became incarnate in his mind. He desired truth. And she found him, giving into his every whim. She gave. He took. Glory unbearable.
Slowly the vision returned. A path. Deep and winding. Into the green womb. Shielded from the unfaithful she sang.
Sutra reached out and could feel the wispy condensation of clouds drip from his fingertips. He inhaled and tasted the earthy richness of creation. He listened and received her song. He knew home had found him.
The heat of a thousand suns pulsated inside cupped hands held tightly before his eyes. Majicks pulsated throughout his flesh. Tears sizzled dry.
She whispered to him again. Shared with him of her desire for the righteous. Of the divine plan set in motion ages before his awakening. She pinned for his success. His exhalation her reward.
Slowly, he returned to consciousness and could feel death's grip. The struggle returned to him. Wrenching muscle and rending sinew tore him from bliss. His hands shot above his head and found a solid shape. Vine, rope, a patient enemy. It didn't matter. The forsaken moor had attempted to snuff out his fire. Not yet.
He gripped the life line and pulled. With bated breath, the taste of icor found it's way into his mouth and nostrils. He would not forget this night. Or was it day? He had lost track of this and many other inane concepts he had taken for granted.
The slurping sound of living muck birthed a struggling mass of form. His angry scream resounded throughout the desolate swamp.
He lay broken on the bank of his denied grave as he wiped the puerile sludge from his eyes and mouth. He stopped, overwhelmed by the panic of loss. He hand wrenched at the layers of filthy cloth, peeling them like flesh, whole layers at a time.
There, in his vest pocket, tucked under his left rib was the small item he remembered stowing away.
Trembling hands retrieved the item, his eyes and spirit wanting to confirm it's existence.
He examined the shimmering orb slightly hoovering inches above his palm.
Her words echoed once again.
The seed spark.
Home at last.
S
[con't]
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The general who advances without seeking fame and retreats without fearing disgrace, whose only thought is to protect his country and do service for his sovereign, is the jewel of his kingdom. -Sun Wu
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