[ kaveh sits, and alhaitham, because he, too, is weak, sits with him. their limbs knock against one another, two men sitting face-to-face, knee-to-knee, ankle-to-ankle, their heads bowed amongst a field of purple. an eagle soaring above would not know where one man began and another ended save for the silver of alhaitham's hair and the gold of kaveh's. to the flowers, however, perhaps they were no different after all. the padisarah scatter so that they are not trodden. they sway with the building breeze, their petals unfurled. a last, profuse bloom.

victims, kaveh says.

alhaitham, who has never believed himself a victim to anything, merely shakes his head. ]

Is that the stance you have taken on, Rtawahist? I see you have chosen to switch to the Darshan you are least suited for.