Far beneath the war of titans, far beneath the dying architect and the cracking Train and the murky obsidian foam, in a small Universe folded inside a small Observable Existence, upon a small world that had never once heard the name of an Immense One or any glimpses of authority, there was a desert.
And in that desert, there was a fire!
Around the fire sat a tribe, men and women and children wrapped in the hides of desert beasts, their brown faces lit warm and orange by the flames, and they sat close together against the cool of the night and they listened.
For it was the hour of stories, and the Wisewoman had begun to speak.
