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The dragon smiled. Horrible, debauched, mouth limp and cracked, loose against the teeth as an ancient dog’s. “Now you know howthey feel when they seeyou , eh? Scared enough to pee in their pants! He he!”
That’s where the Shaper saves them. Provides an illusion of reality—puts together all their facts with a gluey whine of connectedness. Mere tripe, believe me. Mere sleight-of-wits. He knows no more than they do about total reality—less, if anything: works with the same old clutter of atoms, the givens of his time and place and tongue.
“Things come and go,” he said. “That’s the gist of it. In a billion billion billion years, everything will have come and gone several times, in various forms. Even I will be gone. A certain man will absurdly kill me. A terrible pity—loss of a remarkable form of life.[”]
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