As he had in the Jeep, Red dreamed; and again, he dreamed that he was a being of pure light.
But that wasn’t quite it, not really. Rather, he dreamed that he had been a being of pure light—but was now imprisoned. Worse, he had the sense he’d been forgotten, not just by his own kind—other beings, other forms of light—but by himself. And yet, he sensed there had been a reason for his imprisonment; a profound one—nor did he feel that he had been subjected to it against his will, but rather had given of himself freely. So, too, did he have the feeling that a great wrong had been committed, or perhaps a great right (they, his own kind, didn’t know for certain, that was the difficulty), and that he, somehow, had sacrificed himself so that they might know at last.
But the influence of the flesh
