Even so, I couldn’t stop thinking that something in the rocks or somewhere close by must have troubled me. Most people call it intuition, but I often think it’s more like a message, a faint communication, from an older, far more primal part of the brain. It picks up tiny signs that have been lost to rational thought—the sort of things that might have kept us alive when we left the firelight and ventured out into the valley with nothing more than our senses and a few primitive weapons to keep us safe.
