‘The thing you see first,’ she said, with the faintest suggestion of a smile, ‘that’s never what it really is. What you see next, that’s the tip of it. See how it dances, fades like the sky. The way it becomes. All this flotsam. The line of the tide. This against that. It’s where you stop. And where you begin.’
‘Can you see it,’ she whispered, ‘what came before?’ She continued, almost too softly to hear. ‘And there. What is beyond.’
the ink said 