The Rising pulse appears not as a physical being, but as a mass of things ripped from the world. Its presence is heard first, a rhythmic beat of an alien pulse, a rhythm that disturbs the earth and shakes the sands. Then its source is felt, a warmth on the back, like an embrace of a cherished lover. Then it is seen, a collection of footprints, unconnected, distended, seemingly without match. The pulse builds, the shaking buildssands fly, the footprints scurry, and all within its sight feel themselves rise to match. It crescendos and is gone again on another faster wind, a new footprint to touch down.