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   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.”


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