Kestrel sat on the couch, watching the tendrils drawing boring circles back and forth on the rug.
Time seemed to crawl by, slow as a slug, exceptionally sluggish.
"Isn't he finished yet? Does he need help?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Yes."
The responses from the tendrils were identical, resounding as one.
"Could he have passed out? Should I check on him?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Yes."
Kestrel covered her face, suddenly realizing why there were times when she didn't hear the tendrils - when her emotions ran high or she was extremely focused, all the tendrils thought just like her, individual wills merging into one.
During these times, the noise in her mind would disappear, leaving only one clear and solitary voice echoing in the vast psychic landscape.
Normally, her feelings were quite calm, so the tendrils would go their own ways, chattering away. But this intense and focused experience tonight was a first for Kestrel.
