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The speed that was being traveled seemed to increase again, increasing in an exponential way. Now it was as though the black was slowly being wiped away by the knife slits. Slowly being erased from the field of view that the consciousness held. And then, when the exponential travel hit its apex, white light filled the view of the consciousness with the intensity of before but without the pain.

Then there was impact.

The impact of a body hitting stone. Hitting wet stone. The wetness was perceived by the consciousness, who was still in the process of coming to grips with existence itself, and who was now faced with the exceptionally limiting concept of the physical form in which it had just been manifested, as a cold sensation on its ear and cheek.

The figure sat up on the cobblestones using his arms. It was dark, Night, and the figures eyes were in the process of adjusting to the lack of light. Eventually his eyes began to be grow aware of white circular glow of moonlight on the damp cobblestones. He also became aware of the uncomfortable wetness seeping into his pants and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He looked around and saw that he was on a cobblestone road just outside of a small hilltop village.

The village was surrounded by a high brick wall. The brick was smooth and grey in the moonlight. Columns topped in light brown wood marked the entrance to the village. The entrance was currently blocked by a large wooden door with a smaller human sized door inset within it. The consciousness that was now personified was was acutely aware of all of the knowledge that it seemed to easily recall when once it seemed so empty. Memories. Are these my memories, memories of words? Or is there something in this flesh that is feeding me?