The mage built his wheels in a narrow tower above the river. From the windows he could see the river threading past the stones, tugging at them like a child testing loose teeth, always on its way somewhere else, never interested in arriving.
His wheels were fine things: cast in brass, embedded with precious stones, words engraved with care. Each wheel turned another. Virtue answered circumstance. Question answered query. He did not call it prophecy. He called it ordering . He aspired to a complete ordering.
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