His voice thrums and we hear it, deep in our heads without our ears.
His heart bleeds and we paint ourselves in His blood, let it run into our veins.
His thoughts push ours and we grow Them, let them root in our hearts more readily than our own.
His Will winds through our Wyrd because we allow it, invite it, strengthening us.
We are never alone. We are echoes of power. His to Us, Us to Him.