Like water finding its mindless way through a bed of pebbles, it reaches out. What it can move, it moves, what it can open, it opens. What it can close, it closes. A vast network, ancient and dead, begins to appear, and it reaches into it. The parts of it that can think, struggle to make sense of it. Parts of it dream of a mummified body, its dry heart pumping dust through petrified veins. Not everything responds, but it reaches out, presses, moves. And some things move back. Old artifacts awaken or don’t. None of them are what it seeks. None ever will be.
