“Usually I have to drag you kicking and screaming to try something new.” Snake crouched behind the fire. “You realize once it starts, you won’t remember anything that follows.”
I knelt before the fire without fear. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I’ve learned memory is a priviledge, not a right. I know I’ll be with you. And I trust you.”
He shuddered, and spears of vibrant green plumage bloomed from his regalia. “Very well then. We begin.”
I sat at the fire alone. Then Snake came and sat next to me, leaning heavily on me. “Shit. Did I sleep too deep and miss it?”
“What does your instinct tell you?”
I closed my eyes and listened to my inner depths. No, I didn’t miss it. I just don’t remember. Most of the memory is gone. “It tells me to remember to trust you.”
Fifty feet of humor coiled in lazy loops around me. “What are you not saying?”
Damn mind reader. He openly chuckled at my unspoken snark. “I remember something like a sistrum, but wrong pantheon.”
“Are you going to run that down when you wake up?”
“Nope. The only thing I’m going to run down is a cup of coffee. I need to be fully done with the knitting by Saturday.”
Fifty feet of hugs embrace me. “Then you better wake up.”
And I did.