Summary:
<blockquote>Who is to say when you first understood what really happened? At times it felt like a painting you’d looked at too closely, tracing your eyes over the delicate brushwork until you could no longer see trees and stones - so close that you could see where the ink feathered at the edge of the stroke, the way it soaked tiny claws into each individual fiber that made up the page. And then abruptly you’d blinked and there it was, as it always had been: the mountain. The waterfall. The arc of his intentions.</blockquote>
