Torn flesh as the mountain crumbles.

We started in a raft, but then the river dried up and we wandered the desert. I was separated by the rest when a bird called my name, and I flew straight into my repressed memories of being a shaman for a cult I created while being held captive by my fears. It ended badly, and I think I am still mad at myself, but I've lost track of which one of my selves I was mad at. We've agreed not to war for the time being. My trial is set for late March. I will write you from the tunnel to let you know I am alright, but I can't really promise that the transmission will be clear. Just remember that they are watching. Close your eyes count to ten, but that doesn't really make them go away-- does it?