The world’s a riot of colors and smells. I fall to my knees. It is almost too much to bear, this earth of ours. Davies grabs my arm and begins to tug me upright, but Quincrux says, “No. Let him weep.” They watch me as I sob. As I rediscover what it means to be human. Two Jeeps wait with soldiers at the wheels. Quincrux gets in one, holding his cane, and looks back at me, saying, “Remember.” I don’t need to be told what. I’m placed in the other Jeep, and we drive down the mountain. We pass through a wooded area, the air rich and refulgent and full of the tang of birch and pine, the hint of rot. The air warms now as the gravel road levels and the land opens up. There’s the river passing through like a mist-wreathed ribbon of hammer-worn metal threading its way off to the southeast. On the inside, I feel like I’m expanding and contracting all at once. A grub that has finally emerged into the upper world. The world of men. We pass over a bridge and continue on the other side of the river, rising now, passing into the shafts of sunlight, passing through the dappled shadows of trees.
