Swiftcurrent Creek August slipped away into a moment in time.

Purpose? the voice echoed.

You are alive, and you are loved. What else is there?

And now the light pooling between the trees appeared to glimmer, condense, become caught on motes of dust and find a form. His eyes were shut, but if they opened, a smiling face with kind eyes looked upon him now.

For a moment, at least.

A pale nymph of a girl, juxtaposed beside the void of dirt. Made of warmth. Don't be sad.