There are some things so close to one’s soul, so agonizingly precious, that to speak them to another is to bear a spiritual jugular, to allow the possibility of having it slit. The why, it was there in Ronoah’s mind, fiery as the sun perched now on the rim of the earth, waiting for him to come and get her—the why was simple, was obvious, fundamental. It was what held him together, bone by bone, like a sheath of motivational muscle, taken root in the marrow.
