the tree, her lifeless body an empty shell. That would solve everything, she thought, wondering exactly what it would solve.
She stared at the waving grasses on the plain, surprised at how sharply she saw them, each tall blade distinct, yet rippling with the others, some of them a dark green, others paler, a few brown at the edges. She felt the uneven bark of the tree through her tunic. She lay down under the willow and began to slow her heart, curious about what it was like to die, hoping abstractedly that she would catch at least a glimpse of an answer before she joined the Merged One, or passed into nothingness. The threads of the Net were more tenuous; when they broke, the Merging Selves would know someone was gone, even her parents might sense it. It would be too late by then.
She slowed her breathing and walled in her mind. As her heartbeat and breathing ceased, her mind would be pushed through that wall to ... what? She wondered how long she would be mourned. They would all be better off without her, even Harel. She pushed her mind under, waiting for her heart to stop, knowing she would slip into unconsciousness before it did, saving her from any last regrets. It would take one hour, maybe two, for her heart to stop, for her lungs to cease nourishing her brain with oxygen. She was calm. She drifted, sinking beneath the waters of a black tide.
Light blazed before her eyes. She struggled, her mind seized by someone else. She gasped and choked. She threw out her arms; one hit something hard and wooden, the other struck warm muscle and skin. She sucked in air and began to cough; then she was shivering. Someone was rubbing her arms. She blinked, wondering wildly for a moment if she was still alive. The strong arms held her. A head loomed over her, framed by sun-reddened auburn hair. An arm was under her back, lifting her gently, propping her against the tree. She squinted, trying to focus. Her face was wet.
—Harel—she thought.
He sat next to her, rubbing her wrists. He pressed his ear against her chest, as if listening to her heart.—You could have died—his mind murmured.
She kept her mind still.
—Why—he seemed to cry at her.—Daiya, what's wrong, what happened—
She shook her head, not knowing what to tell him. He put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, hiding her face in his pale blue shirt. She suddenly realized he was searching her mind.
—No—she thought apprehensively, and felt him withdraw. She threw up her wall, wondering as she did so if she could tell Harel about ... what? What could she tell him? For a moment, she held an image of an almond-eyed face, alien and threatening; then it was gone.
—You're so unhappy—Harel thought.—I see it, I feel it. Is it the ordeal, Daiya, is that what frightens you? What is it?—He held her tightly, as if afraid she would escape him.—What I felt inside you—he went on,—it was like being inside an isolate, it scared me, I don't understand it. I love you, you can't die—
Even behind her wall, Daiya could sense Harel's agitation. She sighed. How could she expect him to understand something as alien to him as despair? She twisted around so she could see his face. His large blue eyes were watery; his long thick lashes were wet.
She had to reach out to him, soothe him. Her jaw tightened; her lips were pressed against her teeth. She lifted a hand and touched his thick hair. She had to calm him.—It's only fatigue—she thought.—Exhaustion, and no food, and all those days alone, by the time I came here, I could barely move, and then I just couldn't go on, I didn't want to go on—
She realized he was accepting her explanation. It was understandable, logical. It did not demand his acceptance of the notion that there were things so dark, so bleak, that they could break a person. She was tired and had succumbed; she would rest and she would be better. It was true, in a way. Now that she had failed at dying, she thought bitterly, she
She stared at the waving grasses on the plain, surprised at how sharply she saw them, each tall blade distinct, yet rippling with the others, some of them a dark green, others paler, a few brown at the edges. She felt the uneven bark of the tree through her tunic. She lay down under the willow and began to slow her heart, curious about what it was like to die, hoping abstractedly that she would catch at least a glimpse of an answer before she joined the Merged One, or passed into nothingness. The threads of the Net were more tenuous; when they broke, the Merging Selves would know someone was gone, even her parents might sense it. It would be too late by then.
She slowed her breathing and walled in her mind. As her heartbeat and breathing ceased, her mind would be pushed through that wall to ... what? She wondered how long she would be mourned. They would all be better off without her, even Harel. She pushed her mind under, waiting for her heart to stop, knowing she would slip into unconsciousness before it did, saving her from any last regrets. It would take one hour, maybe two, for her heart to stop, for her lungs to cease nourishing her brain with oxygen. She was calm. She drifted, sinking beneath the waters of a black tide.
Light blazed before her eyes. She struggled, her mind seized by someone else. She gasped and choked. She threw out her arms; one hit something hard and wooden, the other struck warm muscle and skin. She sucked in air and began to cough; then she was shivering. Someone was rubbing her arms. She blinked, wondering wildly for a moment if she was still alive. The strong arms held her. A head loomed over her, framed by sun-reddened auburn hair. An arm was under her back, lifting her gently, propping her against the tree. She squinted, trying to focus. Her face was wet.
—Harel—she thought.
He sat next to her, rubbing her wrists. He pressed his ear against her chest, as if listening to her heart.—You could have died—his mind murmured.
She kept her mind still.
—Why—he seemed to cry at her.—Daiya, what's wrong, what happened—
She shook her head, not knowing what to tell him. He put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, hiding her face in his pale blue shirt. She suddenly realized he was searching her mind.
—No—she thought apprehensively, and felt him withdraw. She threw up her wall, wondering as she did so if she could tell Harel about ... what? What could she tell him? For a moment, she held an image of an almond-eyed face, alien and threatening; then it was gone.
—You're so unhappy—Harel thought.—I see it, I feel it. Is it the ordeal, Daiya, is that what frightens you? What is it?—He held her tightly, as if afraid she would escape him.—What I felt inside you—he went on,—it was like being inside an isolate, it scared me, I don't understand it. I love you, you can't die—
Even behind her wall, Daiya could sense Harel's agitation. She sighed. How could she expect him to understand something as alien to him as despair? She twisted around so she could see his face. His large blue eyes were watery; his long thick lashes were wet.
She had to reach out to him, soothe him. Her jaw tightened; her lips were pressed against her teeth. She lifted a hand and touched his thick hair. She had to calm him.—It's only fatigue—she thought.—Exhaustion, and no food, and all those days alone, by the time I came here, I could barely move, and then I just couldn't go on, I didn't want to go on—
She realized he was accepting her explanation. It was understandable, logical. It did not demand his acceptance of the notion that there were things so dark, so bleak, that they could break a person. She was tired and had succumbed; she would rest and she would be better. It was true, in a way. Now that she had failed at dying, she thought bitterly, she
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