"But then you could make three-dimensional constellations," is the thing he latches onto. The idea of a room full of stars, drawing lines between, making up the shapes as they come along. He isn't the storyteller--he's always needed Parker for that--but he could build an image, he could make something out of a line.

Maybe the stories he tells are just incredibly small. The story of how Bodhi's scarf moves. The story of a bird's hovering motions. Creatures that are there before they aren't, empty woods, long shadows.

"I only know a few of ours. Hunters and bears. I never understood why we didn't keep making up more of them."