“Close your eyes. Take a breath. Be still.”
Stroth did as instructed, trying half-heartedly to muffle her analytical mind. The rather conventional overture struck her as odd. Calmly, she asked, “Are we meditating? I was expecting something more mechanical.”
“Hm,” her guide, El-Q’rokar snorted. “You may call it that. It’s important to be calm so one can sense the Metanation clearly. Thought-threads are hard to discern on El-Kera. Here on El-Phyyr, there are no distractions.”
Stroth considered El-Q’rokar’s words as she felt the hum of the silo beneath her feet and heard sand swirling outside. Her pulse slowed and she soon began to hear the same indistinct murmurs that had come to her in recent dreams.
“Ele thought-threads are quiet; if they were cacophonous, they would surely drive one insane,” El-Q’rokar explained, as gently as their gruff voice would allow. “Yet, they can be heard, with effort. As I am physically closer, you may find my thought-thread more easily.”
Straining to parse the flow of mental data, Stroth soon grasped a recognisable tone. El-Endelle, follow this thread. She visualised El-Q’rokar’s thought-words forming a string back to a tight knot which she assumed was their mind. Good, her guide responded. All Ele minds are connected by such thought-threads, a web spanning the Dominion, burning bright wherever Ele are found.
Apprehensive, Stroth moved her mind’s eye outwards, to spy the dazzling sun that was El-Kera. Yes, El-Q’rokar noted patiently, you can see home. Now I will show you how to get there.
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