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    Summary

    It feels funny like a dream, and nothing makes sense like a dream—in the looking glass before him, where he sees that long pale face up against his own, tendrils of branch-hair moving about in a wind that comes from nowhere, time ripples again and he is no longer the boy stuck in the branches but the tree itself, his body sunken and coiled deep into its roots, his limbs spread out and made into smooth white bark even where it is twisted. Where he had been unable to feel his legs only moment ago, feeling now explodes throughout every bit of his body, including there, the life-veins of the tree ripping through his skin, flaying him alive and remaking him until they are inside him, deep inside him, so deep he can feel them wrapping around his heart.

    Language:
    English
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