. . .

The location was noted: it is definitely there; it has already been named.

Called this, its boundaries are wandered with a few amulets that may not be real; its hedges contemplated: hoping to spot bluffs, some enclosure leading to another to another, exposed by staring. To be immured is to be mirthless, mannerisms ataxic to prove this.

A silvered spot picked by seeing; tunnelling sight thrown as a warning; rake territories with burrowing, a burial reflected. To meet yourself upon emerging, wordnulled, staring back at you with a hand clenched full of similar crystals.