“Is this Egg Hill Sink, my Lord?”
“Think about what you just said,” I spoke in Ben Wolf’s head (disguised as his “Lord”). “Egg – Hill – Sink,” I said plainly and calmly.
“Oh.” He turned and looked toward The Yuiselles. “I think I see.”
I explained more clearly. “This is a hill shaped like an egg, true. Kind of,” I added.
“Then it is a pointer.”
I realized he was right. I decided not to talk in his head any more today. He must head back home and discuss his “revelations” with his wife the Irish Lass. Forgot her name right off. Even though I gave it to her.
“I had a vision today Phyllis (*Phyllis*: that was it).”
“Oh yes, dear? Another one? Did this involve The Lord?”
“Well… yes. He said that I was standing on the summit but it wasn’t *the* summit.”
“Moork Summit? Is that what you’re talking about still?” Phyllis was distracted by thoughts of the Small Kowloon House formerly situated on the small island in the middle of Danshire, even though she didn’t know it by that name. Everyone called it [Capitol Hill]. The shack had disappeared overnight, with Red Pepper from the local neighborhood watch sending out an instagram message apologizing for the eyesore and saying the situation had been dealt with. But back to *trying* to listen to her husband’s religious ramblings — more of ’em.”
“The summit was instead a chasm. I don’t know what that means.”
Phyllis realized she missed an important part of his revelation while spacing out about the island and the shack, but didn’t want to backtrack. That bridge is best left to be built by one coming after her. She’s already on the other side of the chasm — what does *she* care?
“Um hum,” she instead answers without full understanding. The husband finally fell silent. Back to thoughts of the shack…