The hand held firm. Itkovian began to comprehend. Behind the memories awaited the pain, awaited all that he came to embrace. Beyond the memories, absolution was his answering gift – could he but survive … The hand was leading him. Through a mindscape. Yet he strode across it as would a giant, the land distant below him. Mortal, shed these memories. Free them to soak the earth in the season’s gift. Down to the earth, mortal – through you, they can return life to a dying, desolate land. Please. You must comprehend. Memories belong in the soil, in stone, in wind. They are the land’s unseen
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