The cyclops had grown its hair long, long, impossibly long, braided into a thick rope that it had wound around itself as both garment and rope, thick chestnut framing its one great watery blue eye.

“There’s no way the Sage of Spolcyc can help me if this is all he is,” said Ponomnocit. “You can’t even tell how far away something it.”

“It does not matter how far away it is,” the cyclops said in a serene voice. “If it is coming, it will come. If it is not, it will remain.”

“Then tell me what I can do to change the future,” Ponomnocit said, “if you’re the one cyclops that’s also a philosopher, that should be easy, yeah?”

“You are changing the future now,” came the reply. “Every action you take ripples into the future in ways that even the wisest cannot see.”

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