With as many of the strange dreams, Jacob
had had, he still could not come to terms with how they overwhelmed his
emotions. The perfection of their realism
was startling. Watching the man bleed
out in front of him, only made Jacob feel all the more helpless. He looked like a medieval king being mourned
by his childhood queen. The young man’s
body lay gasping for air on a bed of roots.
Dying before a row of trees, whose trunks had seats and arm rest
naturally formed into them, seemed a fitting surrounding. To the left of the pale figure was a hollowed
trunk with stairs leading down into the earth.
The king died before his throne.
To the right of his weeping wife another hollowed trunk had naturally
formed stairs leading upward within. The
encircling tree shrine-home was still smoldering even as some overhead branches
continued to burn. The woman wringing
her prayerful hands watched his arrow pierced chest rise for the last
time. She gasped aloud, “The King is
slain and his world a fallen thing.”