Unseen to anyone in the tangle of nagas, a small black phantom flies in from outside.  It flits about the room a bit, looking curiously at the large eggs as one of them shakes slightly with the healthy stirrings of the developing naga within.  The spirit moves areound, looking at the books on the wall and the small hammock hung in the back corner of the room.  After a while it finally settles down on one of the shelves and looks down on the pile of intertwined fur and scales in the middle of the room.<br/><br/>As it pauses, curiously tryint to discern figures in the snake pile, memory returns to the little spirit.  Slowly, it regains a little more opacity and forms into the shape of a bird.  With a start, Feign's spirit remembers itself and flies down to the pile.  It hops from coil to coil silently, looking down into the tangle when it can.  When it finally recognizes the bulge that is Feign's unconsious body, it dives into the pile, and through tamara's bellyscales, vanishing as if it were made of black vapor.<br/><br/>Inside Tamara's womb, Feign stirs to consiousness slowly.   He writhes and twists as he tries groggily to figure out where he is.