I crept through the boy’s blood, drunk on ATP. After the lean years in the tomb, I had forgotten how good energy could taste.

The great question of the Anth: What happens next?

Ariel was a mapmaker; it was his great pastime. His map was not on paper, for there was no paper. Instead, he had discovered a hidden menu inside the Stromatolite, one that permitted the creation of custom terrain in the style of the game: a malleable 3D landscape rendered in sketchy monochrome.

Kay explained: “I lost my sword, so my brother gave me one.” “From where? FROM WHERE? There are no swords to be had. Only one. THAT one.” He jabbed a finger at the sword in the stone. Malory’s eyes were showing too much white as they found Ariel. “You … are … supposed … to take … THAT one.” Ariel was petrified with confusion. “I believe … that

The truth is that I was driven by the question carved into my heart; the question I had almost, but not quite, given up; the great question of the Anth: What happens next?

There is nothing more human than the experience of lying in the dark, wondering: What if I don't wake up? In that way, sleep becomes existential cross-training: dread faced nightly, and nightly overcome.

The fearful did not act; the fearful hoped nothing happened at all.

If the robot had opened the way with kindness, then they had sealed the deal with the essential glue of friendship: long hours together, doing nothing much.

On Earth, everything was chaos. The wolves lost their howl. The eels revealed their secret breeding ground at last.