The storage of lost starlight must be a serious affair indeed if it
required all this space to hold it. The entire mountain range was
surely hollow. Another thing that struck them was the comparative
dimness of this huge interior compared with the brilliance of the
river outside. But, of course, lost things are ever dim, and those
worth looking for dare not be too easily found.
A million tiny lines of light, they saw, wove living, moving patterns,
very intricate and very exquisite. These lines and patterns the three
drew in with their very breath. They swallowed light--the tenderest
light the world can know. A scent of flowers--something between a
violet and a wild rose--floated over all. And they understood these
patterns while they breathed them in. They read them. Patterns in
Nature, of course, are fairy script. Here lay all their secrets
sweetly explained in golden writing, all mysteries made clear. The
three understood beyond their years; and inside-sight, instead of
glimmering, shone. For, somehow or other, the needs of other people
blazed everywhere, obliterating their own. It was most singular.
Monkey ceased from somersaulting and stared at Jimbo.
'You've got two stars in your face instead of eyes. They'll never
set!' she whispered. 'I love you because I understand every bit of
you.
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