"Dazzled by the needles of light stitching the water, I turned to watch him watch them. I noticed his eyelashes were reflected in his eyes, like awning in windowpanes. As I tried to make sense of that reflection, I found I could not look away. His irises were brown, clouding into orange with brighter flecks around his pupils. Then it became as important not to look as to look, I feared I would be lost in rush of bronze motes."