The human race is like running water: it always flows into the paths of least resistance. After a while, these paths become ruts that offer even less resistance. These ruts join other ruts in their common flows of time until the movement of the race is like a complex network of rivers, branching here and joining there, ever flowing where everyone else flows, where it is easiest.
There are places, however, that the ruts never penetrate - areas of hard, rocky soil that none dare venture into. Through time, these places become islands, not worn smooth and slick by the rushing of humanity, but coarse and full of texture. The human race simply ignores these islands. They are by no means easy places to travel - completely inhospitable to the liquid flow, and so they go on forever: untouched, pristine, entirely unknown to the human race.
Every so often, however, there comes along a one who decides to venture in, and what that one finds there can never be understood by the rest.
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