Many sat around Him at the mouth of a dried-out lake bed one summer afternoon. Having their splintering attention, The Dragon Master spoke thus:
The swelter of introspection distills us into multiples. Impurities of which are cast into vapor. Take heed of the remaining condensation, for it is the requiem of our cotton-mouth specters.
Without warning, He spit onto the cracked dirt, and stayed there until it had evaporated in the broil of the afternoon heat.