(EXTREME AGITATION) CANNOT/MUST OBEY.
(Command/pity) Challonari has destroyed intelligence! Must sleep ... sleep ... sleep!
(AGONY ... HORROR/CONFLICT ... INSANITY).
Challonari! (No response. Grief) Ultimate withdrawal ... Challonari! Challonari!
Phil frowned, looking at his empty hand. It seemed to him that the spray of flowers had inexplicably vanished. There was an elusive sense of disorientation, a feeling of something overlooked. There was the tag-end of a remembered grief. There was—
"You were right, Uncle Phil. They have no scent."
"What?" He looked around blankly, saw Timmy tossing the spray aside. "Oh ... there it is. I thought I ... uh ... forget what I was going to say." Two voices that were not voices—a dream, a despairing cry. An elusive memory faded, faded. "There's mud on your cheek, Timmy. Did you fall?"
"No ... that is, yes." Timmy scrubbed his cheek industriously.
"Make up your mind. Hurt yourself?"