“Right now, you don't think I'm making sense and I don't think you're making sense. If you tell me some things, maybe that'll help. I'll tell you whatever you want to know about me.”
(He gets a preliminary response to his report. Insofar as there is a consensus to be summarized, it is: this is a tricky situation, you're doing fine, carry on, keep us posted. Great.)
“And then I suppose I’m likely even more confused.”
“Maybe I should just go on my way for now and if you ever decide you want to tell me, you can find me later. I’d be interested to hear it.”
(She says he’s been helpful — well, that and a few other things suggest that she has finally gotten everything she wants from him, and she isn’t interested in the only other thing he thought she should have despite that, so he isn’t too worried that hinting at a desire to leave will worsen the outcome for her, now.)
The solar mirror and engine flows apart into its raw materials, which disappear behind his mock-bodies. In synchrony, all three take on their bird-shapes again, and say:
"You're welcome. I hope you enjoy flying wherever you want to be."
And they run down the beach and take off in formation.
And then she pulls a comb out of her pocket, leans over the griffin's head, and combs at the air. Comb comb comb comb until there's a hole in the air, threads of local reality wisping around the edges.
She rides the griffin through the portal, and presently it closes.
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"I might tell you if you really want to know, because you've been helpful. But only when I'm ready to go, probably."
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“And then I suppose I’m likely even more confused.”
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(She says he’s been helpful — well, that and a few other things suggest that she has finally gotten everything she wants from him, and she isn’t interested in the only other thing he thought she should have despite that, so he isn’t too worried that hinting at a desire to leave will worsen the outcome for her, now.)
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He's putting away the miscellaneous bits of glass and whatnot.he used for demonstrations, and his anchors in the beach pop out of the sand.
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The solar mirror is still over their heads, but that's all. (Taking it away just yet would be being rude to guests.)
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"You're welcome. I hope you enjoy flying wherever you want to be."
And they run down the beach and take off in formation.
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And then she pulls a comb out of her pocket, leans over the griffin's head, and combs at the air. Comb comb comb comb until there's a hole in the air, threads of local reality wisping around the edges.
She rides the griffin through the portal, and presently it closes.
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He writes a continuation of his report, includes assurances of his sanity, transmits it, puts away his telescopes, and flies on.
Having learned that the universe is perhaps a bigger place than he thought.