She could have been a Gudrun, a Dagny or a Bjork.

It was hard to tell, observing the girl through a plume of water vapor, even for a future spirit.

It takes an effort to shift shape from sulfiric water vapor into a something that even rometely resembles a future spirit. Taking shape is like running a marathon times ten. Not that I ever ran one.

Holding on to the shape of a future spirit, let’s say to write something down, is even harder to do.

She could have been six, or seven, maybe even ten.

It’s was hard to tell, watching her from afar.

She looked as if she knew exactally what she was doing and where she was going.

Every step she took: firm but carefull.

Her eyes: fixed on the spot where the ground breaks open, blending orange en grey into a color with no name.

Direction: future spirit.

Purpuse: hard to tell.

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