Consciousness returned not with a jolt, but like a slow tide, gentle and warm. I woke to the feeling of impossibly soft furs against my skin and a gentle, dappled warmth on my face. The world-shattering, soul-rending pain was gone. In its place was a deep, body-wide ache, the kind that follows a long and brutal illness, and a tight, pulling sensation across my face, a reminder etched in flesh. But beneath that, there was a fundamental, thrumming sense of... wholeness. I was alive.I took a slow, careful breath, savoring it. The air was rich and alive itself—with the scent of sun-warmed pine, of clean woodsmoke, and the mouth-watering aroma of roasting meat. Real, solid, honest smells.Cautiously, I opened my eyes. Both of them. The left was blurry, the world seen through a foggy, distorted lens, but it saw light and movement and color. It was a miracle, or perhaps the last, parting gift of the Whisper, a final act of grace for services rendered.A face moved into my field of vision
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