Hashim’s artwork had been elegant and moving – and even without the outlook running, the powerful emotions it had evoked lingered – but Yatima was unswayed from vis choice of vocation. Art had its place, tweaking the remnants of all the instincts and drives that the fleshers, in their innocence, had once mistaken for embodiments of immutable truth – but only in the Mines could ve hope to discover the real invariants of identity and consciousness.
