"Hmmm. Or a sort of magnetic fluid." He smiles a little. Whatever a magnetic fluid might be. "Something that moves in the brain at night."

That's not such a troubling thought. He takes a good long drink from his bottle and decides to keep his own notion to himself.

Maybe.

Or not.

"--It's better than the idea that we exist only courtesy of some unseen novelist's pen." Which sounds like religious metaphor, really, and he half hopes Bahorel will take it as such.