His Estuary Eye turned slowly above him, its lemniscate pupil a closed loop of exactly that kind, and Noah understood his own anatomy a little better.
And time. Time was the strangest lesson of the crossing, because out here it stopped pretending to be a river. Through the Sight, each vibrating thread extended in a direction that was neither ahead nor behind but somehow both, the way a plucked string is not one moment of sound but a whole sustained note. Past and future were not places the threads visited.
