I am a piece of one tendril of a vine, crawling up a brick wall. I cling to it, burrowing tiny rootlets into the brick, holding myself against the wall so I can grow further up. Nutrients flow into me. I keep only a portion, sending the rest onward, upward, to keep the tendril alive and to push new growth upward, toward the light.

There was a feeling of safety when I was nearer other tendrils. Massed together, we were strong, we could do anything. Now I only feel exposed.

The tendril ahead of me wants more fuel, but I feel a change in the supply of nutrients. I still have fuel for myself and to pass along, but I feel the pressure dropping. I sense change on the vine.

I push food onward even as supply dwindles. The vine behind me grows brittle. It has been cut, my source of food destroyed. I feel myself drying up, dying. I push food onward. A drop saved might keep me supple, alive, for another moment, and what I pass along feeds growth that will shortly die.

I push it on anyway, even as I dry out. What else can I do?