“Why would something in the Weave want your attention?” I asked.
“Well now,” Oak replied, “That is certainly the question of the
hour.”
“What are you going to do?” I pressed him.
“As I have already said,” he said, “I intend to wait.”
I was about to say something but he continued. “What would you
have me do, might I inquire?”
“I don't know, something!”
“My experience,” he started, pompously, “Tells me that I don't
know enough to know what kind of a something I should do. There is
something wrong with this picture,” his arm swept our living room,
grandiosely, “Some parts of it contradict others. Nothing adds up.
To do something now, the wrong something, might cause the
very disaster we seek to avoid.”
