Pivotal.

The word lodged in Andawyr’s mind.

Why would he perceive Hawklan in this way? It was not something that Hawklan would have claimed for himself. He was always a reluctant leader. And, logically, Andawyr knew well enough that any one of the countless actions and decisions made by countless people at that time would have brought about a different outcome. It was rarely possible to trace a single line of cause and effect to any one happening, and least of all in the chaos of armed conflict, where chance ran amok. As someone had once said to him, ‘Ifs were strewn everywhere.’

Andawyr’s face became unexpectedly resolute. Ifs notwithstanding, Hawklan loomed large in all considerations of those events.

Pivotal.

Andawyr recognized that something in his wiser self was prompting him. The word ‘paradox’ had come too glibly; it had misled him. The water over the rock was no paradox, he knew. It was simply the outcome of forces within and without the water which, at least in principle, were calculable. His relinquishing of fretful questions in order to reach an answer was a little more mysterious but was at least based on his own tested and quite consistent past observations. And Hawklan? Healer and warrior. No real paradox there – no inherent contradictions. It was the duty of those who had the ability to stand between the less fortunate and harm, be it with poultice or sword. Hawklan was simply skilled at both, and skilled far beyond the average. He was…

Pivotal.

The word lurched Andawyr back into his deeper concerns. Although clarity was being denied him in these he had throughout an impression of movement, of turning, of innumerable spiralling ways coming together, joining. He trusted such instincts. Many times, vague though they were, they had pointed him in a direction that had subsequently proved fruitful. They were not enough in themselves to lead to conclusions but he knew that nothing else would be forthcoming. His walk through the hills had been helpful after all.