Wherein some small thing is brought to a close. (Ch. 16)
“An outstretched arm. Twelve vines twine around the wall of tears. But only two of them are star studded, the rest wilt. A wave unbroken goes unchallenged and a nail unhammered cracks. But this has already passed, no? No, only two vines remain, and not a one studded with stars.” Excerpt from the incomprehensibilities of Ella, The litany of days to come, second standard edition. “It can’t be a coincidence! Burn in a thousand flames and tell me that anything about this was a coincidence!” One who’d been there would’ve said that Gracchus was complaining rather loudly. One could suppose he was complaining to someone and not just to the air. One would be somewhat correct in this assertion. In anger, he gathered himself just enough to brush a tassel of the tapestry, which had begun to fray. “There was a plague twenty-three years ago, a plague for sheep. It came from the south and ended in the south.” “Does that help you calm down?” Wicker’s comment had had some intent behind