– that vision that was the centrality of the combined consciousness they operated within. This was why he felt, at this moment, even in here, limbless; without those parts of him that were in some sense even more essential than himself – how could he even explain to her, that even with her, without – but she wasn't that way – she understood, her eyes informed him without subtlety that she understood this without his having to say that even with her, he was incomplete because –

He saw it.

And the same time understanding his true nature, for this was what it was; the same time understanding that the reality of their combined consciousness was centred on a vision, and even that this was the same – and all of this through in an instant that transformed him.

And he saw.

He saw it right there.

He saw it.

Standing there,

he saw him.

He saw that he was real.

He saw him standing there and knew, indeed knowledge was the fundamental structure of him.

He saw him there real and therefore, his being this anyway, he knew –

he knew how.

He knew exactly how.

And

he reached; he reached to – and touched –

he reached out and he touched -

It was him.

Standing there.

Pry touched his face.

“Sorcerer!”

He was sitting in a bush.

“Sorcerer!”

He was a man sitting in a bush.

“Sorcerer!”

He sat there, in the bush, being a man, that was, who was, sitting in a bush.

“Sorcerer!”

He was a man sitting in a bush that was a man sitting in a bush because he was the –

“Sorcerer!”

“What?”

“Why are you sitting in a bush?”

The Sorcerer looked up and out through leaves at the Golden Youth – so high up above him on the horse he was sitting on. He wasn't merely standing up, which would have been a height high enough from which to look down upon a man who anyway was merely sitting in a bush. But he was also on a horse too; which really rendered the whole thing even more ridiculous.

“You're sitting there in a bush there, Sorcerer.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“I woke up here. I –” he thought about it, “this bush is the only life I have ever known. – And how do you know I'm a sorcerer? I don't know that; so how do you?”

“You're dressed like one.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, you are yeah.”

“A sorcerer I'm dressed like?”

“That's right. You're wearing the clothes of a sorcerer which is all I mean by that. That's how I know. That's the logical thought process – it wasn't a logical thought process. I merely saw that you wearing the clothes of a sorcerer and since only sorcerers wear the clothes of a sorcerer, I knew – that was how I knew right away that you were a sorcerer – why, are you not?”

“– Can you please help me out of this bush?” He was in a bush right now.

“Certainly.” The Golden Youth, he was – he couldn't be any more than twenty years old. He had on a white and gold and grey breastplate. A golden bow and quiver on his back. Golden hair. He was golden. Totally, really, golden.

He leapt off his giant white horse, quite dramatically, the golden youth, and then helped manoeuvre the sorcerer out of the bush which he was semi-attached to.

“You woke up in this bush in this fashion and you didn't seek to extricate yourself?”

“I did seek to extricate myself but then I failed to extricate myself, so I sat back down. It wasn't too... agonising. – Where are we?” There was a collapsing pile of stones that had perhaps once been part of a wall, by the bush. The Golden Youth led his giant mare and the Sorcerer over to it.

“This is Shensh. It's a planet. You're a sorcerer. You're dressed for fighting; this is a decent cuirass you have on. – But you're cape is clearly that of a sorcerer. And you have no weapons. Your hat is also rather more... elaborate... than any kind a fighter would employ who wasn't – you're a sorcerer; it's not too much of a statement. Rather, the hat. It is too much of a statement. For a sane human being, that is, who isn't.” It was a triangle hat thing – tricorne, he thought – at a jaunty angle sideways on his head. You know. “You know Shensh?”

“Yeah, yeah, Shensh, yeah I do, I do, but –” it was rather vague, he didn't know but – he didn't know who he was, clearly, and also, it was also clear he had no memories of who he was. And no, he didn't know Shensh either but why admit that. The lad had said sorcerer, and it didn't immediately ring any bells of non-conformation, so he thought – he thought it likely true. He just couldn't also in this minute recall how one went about doing, any kinds of, that was, what was, actual, sorcery... that actual sorcerers... that was and you know. – Did.

“Who are you?”

“The Golden Bow.”

“The Golden Bow?” This was extremely familiar to him but he couldn't think why. “That's a title. – Any kind of name, there?”

“What do they call you?”

The Sorcerer thought about that. “The problem is – that I have, is that, I have transitioned into a conscious state here in a bush without knowing who I am. Not just my name. I don't know who, you know, anything, else – who I am –”

“Is this a regular happenstance... there?” he said there again, “I understand this can be a fairly regular happenstance with Sorcerers. You know. The strange chemicals you gents ingest. The weird substances presumed to confer mystical properties on the consumer. Second sight. Third sight. Mind reading. Precognition – I've heard it described as, certain scholars – you know; various mystical properties of these kinds? Last night – do you have a sore head/dry mouth; sore – and now you must forgive this necessary but discourteous enquiry – arse?”