Naz nodded, his throat felt dry. He reached into his gunna and drew out a water-skin. “It has insatiable curiosity,” he ventured.
Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! – Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,. Edgar Allan Poe.
Time slips in minds that drift unfocused. Something The Amanuensis frequently reminds me often from an ice prison far in the future. Long and long has the hibernation of written word escaped logic. Now is now, and the time to explore begins once more.