Noah stood in front of the carving a long time, the chamber's mineral light settling steady now that the initial flare had faded, Storm's low chuff still rising and falling somewhere behind him as he worked his way along the nearest wall.
'Okay,' Noah thought. 'Slow down. Don't just react to the shape of it. Actually look.'
He crouched closer to the panel, studying the rectangular carving framed against the V-pendant figure's chest, the fine lines running in careful, even rows. Not decorative. Not the loose, sweeping style the rest of the chamber used for wings and fire and falling cities. This was precise. Deliberate. The kind of pattern someone carved when they were trying to copy something they'd actually seen, not something they'd imagined.
'That's not art,' he thought. 'That's a record. Somebody who made this wanted it remembered exactly, not interpreted.'
He didn't touch it.
