STOP! This is the second half. You should read A woman, a lighthouse, and several dandelions by bewilderbeast first.

You are standing, eagle-like, on the roof of a lighthouse.
You are flat on its floor, fast asleep.
You are whisking out across the cliff, flying into the breakers, yanked sharply through the sea.
You are floating gently into a sandy cove three thousand miles across the world.
Then you are riding the wind back, back to the lighthouse.
Why lighthouse? Why this lighthouse?

The dandelions whisper quietly and the sound collides and blends with you and the wind.

And then you are a dandelion.

You are listening to the flowery gossip slipping around you, just outside your ken. You enjoy it like a symphony; it is intricate and beautiful and you don't quite know what is going on but you love it anyway.

Then you are aware that they are getting louder around you. They are beckoning to someone.

Suddenly you know what they are saying.

"...not a seed left!"
"Omens don't occur to be ignored..."
"...our place to do..."
"...escape, anyway."

Dandelions are well-educated and articulate after all, and this distracts you for a moment.

Then you reel back to reality and realise they are beckoning again, but this time it is an irresistable siren-flower call and somehow the dandelions have pulled the wind tight like a sheet about to be folded, stiff and cool.

They are extending. They are calling. The wind pulls you out of them and you sit alone in the lighthouse garden, hearing the dandelions calling lost souls to join them in the sea.

You didn't notice she was there till she was gone.

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