Amongst the lesser spirits did Soreal prepare herself for the journey. She reassured the little ones that yes, she would come back for a visit some day. That yes, she would take care of herself on the disc. That yes, she would sit on the prow of the mighty ship, staring into the infinite on the crest of the bow.

She hears the melody of music that leaps and swims to be heard.
She hears the rhythm of steel and the pulse of the forge.

It's perfect.
Too perfect.

Near her father, unfortunately, was where the feeling was worst. Near him, his way was the truth. A single harmonious choir reaching to the ends of space and time. All songs merged together into this single tune. It was strong enough to shake the spirit, even from here.

The little voices, however, are drowned out. There's a simplicity in the little sounds of the world, what she strains to hear, of baby chicks being born and the water lapping on shore of a beach. Like missing the trees for the forest - she cannot tell the individual elements apart when they are all woven together.

The wildflower she picks up, carefully cradling the roots in her hands. It sings its own, small song of the eye, unveiling like a embarrassed maiden. She smiles. At least in the gardens, she can pick out a single voice from the hundreds of millions.

At least, for once, she can be herself, rather than a part of the whole.

The two lovers - no, something more. She watches from afar. If they deigned to find truth in each other, ever the more evidence for their unique version of the truth. So far as she knew, none of the others had bonded in this way before. But the Weaver-

Well, let's stop thinking and give them some privacy.