She feels it deep inside

Small, shriveled, barelypulsing.

She hesitates.

Should she leave it be? Let it hide?

She reaches inside herself

and draws it out.

She cups it in her two hands

much as she would hold a strange worm

And she contemplates it.

At first it lies still

No movement

No color

A soft charcoal mass

Cold in her hands.

She studies it, turning it over in her hands

Looking at it from all angles.

It rolls without resistance.

Tiny cracks line its surface.

Gouges and pocks mar it,

some just surface marks, others deep and permanent.

She sits down on the ground

Tall solid trunks surrounding her

Decaying leaves underneath her

Greenery shadowing her safely.

She curls her legs underneath her

and gently rolls the gray mass

back and forth, from one hand to the other.

No change.

She tilts her head curiously

Feeling strangely remote,

empty without it inside her.

She stares at it for an eternal moment

and then gently rolls it onto the ground,

letting it rest in a small tuft of green blades.

She stretches out on her belly

and shadows dance along her bare skin

She continues to watch it

as the wind ruffles the grass against it.

Her eyes grow heavy

and the trees whisper, lulling her to sleep.

She drifts, trying to watch the small lump,

apathetic, detached,

but still aware that it has some importance.

Tendrils of vine snake toward her,

stroking her calves, the curve of her hip,

sliding across her shoulders.

Vaguely aware of their comfort

she lets the misty shadows in her mind overtake her

and her dark eyes close,

finding peace at last.

The vines whisper to the leaves above her.

Can she be healed?

Can it feel hope and life again?

Can it be restored to her?

One small tender shoot stretches toward the mass of gray matter

and touches it.

Another eternal moment

The mass shudders and trembles once.

The branches above her sigh with relief

and repeat a mantra that echoes

among the life in the woods.

Heal her soul.

And she rests.