[ And is he well? For an abstraction, a diversion, a definition. Flesh has tarried, but not failed him. Strength has dispersed, his qi blinked into nothingness, but his feet yet hold ground. He stands, he shifts, he walks. For all their contortions in maelstrom, his thoughts still rattle from fact and evidence to conclusion.
He concludes, with a testing nod that tries himself for truth and the arrogance of certainty: ]
I persevere.
[ If he were a weapon, he would yet meet aim and cut target. If he were a poison, his potency might be diluted, but he would still choke breath. If he were a firm, he would spread and sink into suffering.
no subject
He concludes, with a testing nod that tries himself for truth and the arrogance of certainty: ]
I persevere.
[ If he were a weapon, he would yet meet aim and cut target. If he were a poison, his potency might be diluted, but he would still choke breath. If he were a firm, he would spread and sink into suffering.
How else to qualify him, if not as disaster? ]
The waters. Concentrate.