All sorts of colors. “You’re taking her out of her own head, and you’ll mess with her memories, with her very personality, and then you’ll load her back. Shh…”… and meeting, merging, mixing, mutating—“And dying, to be an Other is to die, again and again, to evolve with every A buzzard sweeps close overhead, its eyes questing, but sees nothing but dead leaves and a recovered cougar, now loping off, ready for another go at an elk.
“I want to talk to Rachel,” she said. These so-called Todds spread out in their search, my friend’s name the only word upon their lips. He kicked it idly. That was one of the ultimate difficulties of parenting, she supposed, trying to impose an older generation’s thought patterns upon emerging ways of thinking.
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