"There's fog pushing
at the mountains. Have we been up so long?"
Cesca shrugged.
The fog would burst through the gap and flood through the valley.
Soft, still, wet; there was no wind. It wouldn't be cold;
the sun had been so warm.
"There will be those in the asylums," I mentioned, almost as though
it were an afterthought.
"Yes, there are those so placed by their families who should not
have been."
"Waste! And torment. I can bring them here. We'll sort them out, too,
into new persons, give them the skills they desire, and launch them."
"It can be done."