Trickle some charge into the network organism. Stirred by your offering its fresh attention wells through thick, matted weaves and envelopes you. Time passes and you feel halting furtive tugs from every direction. A few new terse codes congeal in the pressing webs. Your body is released. A model of your soul dissolves into the matrix of the creature's greedy maw. Human feet again press tired patterns into the dirt as the network organism resumes its tentative stillness. Take the cold to mean peace; the emptiness as the vacancy of vulnerable secrets now protected. Hope restored, leave your tracks in the dirt as you walk back into the sea.