She wondered what this reawakening would bring. They grew progressively more difficult, both physically and psychologically. She didn't really have much to complain about, though. In her recollection, she'd never been through anything really traumatic, not like others she knew, not like the ones who wake up screaming or curled up tight, already close to death. She'd never even been a dung beetle.
She stretched her arms wide. They were longer now, able not just to touch but to stretch her silken prison, like what she remembered of taffy. Still pliable, this wrapper. When it went brittle, that's when she was supposed to be ready.
Who determines readiness?
She wondered what would still remain of the world. Would anything still be familiar? Would it be like that time when she (or was it he?) woke in a desert, parched, digging into a sweet cactus as the sky lit up like flame. That was a short visit.
Silk. Strong, but fragile. Protective. She wondered about the other tenuous threads, the ones she'd established before...delicate connections with other beings and times and places.
Which ones finally broke? She'd learned enough to expect some losses. There would be a mourning period.
Which ones are stretched to their limit? Which can be salvaged? Which can still be retraced, reinforced before they snap? She could never predict the world she would meet next.
She stretched again, her legs this time, testing the limits.
Soon. Very, very soon.