Ambedo

Later that day, E.K. was sitting on the concrete porch that was the face of his house, basking in ambedo—he became vividly entranced by the seemingly meaningless things around him.

The intense, nutty aroma of freshly brewed coffee was still lingering in the air of my modest den. With my back against my hulking bookshelf, I, now in ambedo, watched the rain drip-drop on the window pane. But the pattering of the rain against the glass door of the balcony was so intense and unsettling that for a brief moment, I experienced chrysalism.

Ambedo, a melancholic trance. Fight of the Elements. It was quiet like never before. Kailash was moving towards the north. Oce was quiet, silently helping the movement. All the mountain children back in their ambedo.

Ambedo. That's what he was feeling as he ran after Selena through the tall grass (having awakened with a knot on his head to find her fleeing) and tried not to think about the danger. Ambedo: that trance-like state in which one became became so absorbed by their surroundings—the wind massaging the green hills so that they undulated like sea anemones or the red-gold chiaroscuro sky lending palette and poetry to everything or the sun glaring over the horizon like a burning but indifferent god—that they forgot what they were doing or even why they were there.