Unwoven
The web begins, being woven.
The minds reach and touch and feel joining at the crossroads and leaping away, ahead, aside, to the next.
The pattern holds little beauty, or flow, but the strength, in the heaviest of mind junctures, has no opposition which can hope to sever.
The center, the heart, the weaver’s home, is often a black void.
A nothingness that threatens to consume the entire weaving.
The minds must sacrifice, must push in to fill the emptiness, a struggle, a battle against the unmaker.
Is the weave strong enough?
Can there be a pattern when all starts in darkness?
The wills must be strong.
They must unite, strengthen the weak and hold on to the wild.
Do not pretend. It won’t last.
You won’t last.
Reach for us, and follow into the dark heart.