The first thing he felt upon regaining consciousness was wet and prickly. He couldn't see just yet, and wouldn't be able to turn his head even if his eyes were working properly. In fact all he could move were the fingers of his left hand. So he was determined to make the best of that situation until he could do more.

If he could do more. A thought he quickly would not allow himself to hold on to.

He gripped the objects between his fingers. No, it was a substance. He flattened his hand and ran the back of it over the unknown quantity.

Prickly. Wet. Small. Or a small part of something big. He got the impression he should be familiar with the touch, but he still was not properly functioning yet.

He had an instinct to grab the object. He tugged lightly, but the did not come into his hand. It must be attached to something. That something must be the ground.

Plant life! The very nature of his own life, of language, of memory itself was vague in his mind, but slowly, from a great distance, the logical understanding of something in his life...the memory of plant life, trickled into his consciousness.

Plants. Trees. These were things. real things. Things he knew, and had seen all of his life. He WAS alive, and the world was making sense again one second at a time.

After a brief exhaustion, he summoned the strength and will to pull at the plant with all of his might. Straining, begging praying...at last it came out, and with it his arm moved again. His whole arm flopped to his face.

He felt the plant on his face and could smell pine...Pine! As in ever green. He too, like this plant, would live no matter what. He suddenly knew this as he inhaled the scent again.