[A Longing for Distance and Familiarity]

A flash of green and white and red.

The sensation of wind against carapace, pushing backwards as you dodge through the trees.

The sun, beating down, suddenly gone.

The hum of a swarm of insects, almost floating in the air as you pass.

Pressure to be present, expectations of others.

A red-orange dome, standing above the bay, glistening in the sun.

Throngs standing outside, their bodies wet with ocean mist and sweat under an unbroken sun.

The passage to the chamber, lined with memories and pride, floored with interlocking tiles in dark and light.

Warm greetings, expectations and concerns, All clad alike, altered reflections of yourself moving independently.

The constant chanting from the assembled masses, calling out of names, the ones you stand with, and others unknown to you.  The collected hopes and desires, in conflict, in solidarity.  A mass breathing as one.

An expanse of green, etched with the white symbols, the center rising up to form a forbidden mound, One posed in the nexus, ten more scattered around the space, unmoving, expecting.

A burst of fur and wood standing in the corner.  Sudden movement, a sharp sound, and the patter of feet around the ancient etching, skittering to relative safety at the far side of the rune.

Standing at the origin point of the symbol, facing the one in the center, hands clasped around a tool that feels like an extension of one’s own body.

White speeds by while you stand, unmoving

Again, as you sense the others in the space, the ones nearby filled with fear, and dreams, and desire, the ones further away with pride and hope.

A loud sound, and motion begins.  Legs formed from chitin and speed propel forward around the shape to the first corner, where one of the others wait.

Loss and frustration contained in a tight space, impotent against the raised one.

A flicker and a sound stand where you stood, a few moments earlier, waiting.
Motion again, and you lurk far from your start, where the fur was, but is no longer.  A brief feeling of loss and homesickness.

Motion once again, and now you stand closer to the masses, they cry out as one, for you, but their voices filter as though through a dense wood, barely reaching you

A nearness to where you came from, an understanding only to return.  The voices fade out entirely, as the motion begins again.

Home.  Safe.  Friend.  Pride.  Wanderlust. Again.

Again.

Again.

A flash of green and white and red.