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He kept moving, kept being. Time was meaningless, distance a joke.
He was a god.
Philip! Can you hear me?
He was the speeding train, he was the tracks it sped on and he was the sparks that spat out from their union.
He was the snow-covered mountain, he was the falling snow and he was the white cloud above it all until he was the eagle who tore through the cloud.
He was everywhere.
Philip!
He was anything.
Philip!
So, why would he possibly want to wake up?
Philip!
The voice like in an itch in the back of his mind, calling some word, some name that meant nothing to him. A probing hook, trying to catch him and haul him out all flailing and fish-mouthed from this wonderful dream.
Onward! The eagle who was him swooped and just missed its target, a scurrying mouse who was now him and he was beneath the earth, rampant and relieved in a miniature empire of dirt and holes and then he was the ground full of dirt and holes and all the creatures scurrying through him tickled him pleasantly and he smiled even though the ground didn't have a mouth to smile with.
Philip! Are you listening to my voice?