And he gazed up to the heavens in search of his place, wondering what of his station, what of his family, what of his loves and his lover. His answer came in clouds, freely shifting, full yet shapeless. He understood that there were no answers to be had, that his truth would be formed by his actions, as a vase is molded from clay. He understood that fire would strengthen him, harden him, and he feared he would also become brittle. He longed to remain simple, and look up at shifting clouds, and dream, beneath the dreaming tree, holding her hand.