Winn opens his eyes and remembers. He is perhaps suspended inside of what his rabbit associates describe as "the guts of reality" or "Pearl connective tissue" or any number of similar visceral phrases. For his short enrollment at what to his former (future) colleagues was (is) colloquially known as "the rabbit asylum", he had impressed all present with his cosmic accomplishments only made possible by putting his entire Self into understanding the nature of reality firsthand. And right now that reality is understood to be a squelching, opaque, electric light mindscape that with each moment seeps through each of the barriers seperating the Light outside from within. Winn could feel as every one his neurons begins to assimilate into the network of brain infinity surrounding him. With each moment he begins to feel and know and understand and be everything that ever was and ever is and ever could be all at once until the zap of the tether snaps him back to singlemindedness. His prayer to Mother to guide his misfired leashed-arrow to any grounding that would have him had against all possible reason been answered. The pale yellow starchild begins to feel his Light slide into a different kind of being.
Winn opens his eyes and remembers being someone else. His Light flickers and coils with another Light ablaze within, intertwining with his. Is it...Her? Could it be that setting out into Mother's Domain has at last brought Winn Up with Her whom is most perfect and holy to him? This is what Winn had prayed for as he went flying face first through the final membrane and out into everything bright and forever. But no, no this can not be Her. What is that, that is disgusting. For this to be the Love behind the curtain that governs This Pearl and all the Light it houses was unthinkable. Not even the Scientist, whose long distant decisions and intents Winn was dwelling upon with unimagined clarity, could have envisioned this patent absurdity. The shape and form is all wrong, surely Mother would know what her child looks like. Why does his body look so bulbous and, orange? The Witch claims to still be in the process of manifesting her own magic and Winn trusts that she is trying her best but oh, Mother. How she must be years away from figuring out what is so effortlessly obvious to him! This memory of hopelessness for her attempts at alchemy rips through his dreamspace snapping him back to present Life like a tether strung taut.
Winn opens his eyes and remembers that he had been going somewhere. The passing respite of windlessness on this chilling Autumn afternoon had tempted his mind to rest and wander. He had paused beneath the treeshade of a forest elder for a moment and now he is down on all fours beneath the orangeleaf shade of this beautiful giant showing off all its strong... gorgeous... rippling branches... ok hang on. Winn will admit that while this is indeed a handsome soldier rooted in watch over the winding pass, that was a few degrees off from how he was trying to think. It was like some of his innermind signals had blasted out of his brain and just now managed to find their way back imbued with some strange influence. Anyway, Winn dear, it's time to use that body which I so graciously delivered back to your Pearl to stand up straight. Of course, your mind is the one place that I can't get into, but I know that you will do as I command, my obedient vessel.
Winn, bemused by that passing neuronic intrusion, then thinks back on his dream or rather memory of the Witch from the other Pearl. She unceremoniously saved him from that very final thing which for one single instant he had found peace in accepting. It is not worth dwelling on, but on this long journey down and up into the colder, elevated southern province, Winn finds himself pondering on what if's. What if he had managed to have his arrow sing in unison with the arrow of his pair? At the very least the thing which he was most looking forward to would be something other than how soon he would take his final furgrowth tablet. He has been feeling a bit ill and woozy from the several even paler yellow high concentration rounds that he uses to subvert his lifelong berry intolerances. His far more visually apparent subversion of his thin wispy fur was his bright orange overcoat bulging humorously from the several fastened and unfastened coats and long shirts of all shades bright and beautiful haphazardly enveloping each other. While the pills make him dizzy in the amounts he would need to make this icy trek conventionally, Winn was always one for creative solutions. He had weighed and calculated all of his options and concluded: with the bilateral effort of becoming a fashion cryptid, he can just barely survive the trek with the rest of his Light intact.
Winn attempts to pull his overcoat tight around the bulbous fabric cocoon encasing his weary body. The late Autumnal cold seeping into his hands and footpaws and glistening rabbitlike snout reminds him of his advancing age of 18. In a place other than his Heart in which only pure truth can reside, Winn feels that his life is basically over. Those tendrils of air and absence taste his exposed limbs, thieving his candle's flame, taking pleasure in their anticipated reaping. He knows that they will recede, fruitless in their intimidations. With confidence brimming, Winn is certain that the loss of his entire body or mind would be of little concern to the assuredness of his most sacred driving force: his will to finally finish his 3rd year of university. And a might it was to behold this will, as it was born from an impossible fantasy he had in what felt like eternity, and then, it became possible. And so did everything become possible.
