CHAPTER 20
For as much as I forced myself, things had stopped moving at my will. Every so often, I could still lift tiny objects, but with great difficulty. The pain of that incorporeal wound had faded. I could barely recall what the part that had been ripped from me used to feel like. The voices that had always accompanied me, a jumble of thoughts and whispers from the ethereal world, had basically also vanished, leaving me with only the wonderful sounds that populated my new home.
I liked the sound of the wind tugging at the large leaves on the trees. The melodious chirping of the winged rodents that flew from branch to branch, always in pairs. The sound of the rain when it flowed along the stone drains into the filtering jugs. I even liked the dry smacking sound of the little reptiles
