We continued following the dirt path which had leveled out nicely, until Sid stopped us again.

“From here you can see the training ground of accursed springs.”

I looked at Sid. “Why would we have that here?”

“I think you are under the mistaken impression that the House is essentially good. Worse, like many new writers, you think you’re in control of every part of the story.”

“Isn’t that true? I mean, we made the House.”

“Did you?”

I didn’t answer, unnerved by the discussion and instead surveyed the thick stalks of bamboo, each one standing without uniformity, in a pool of stagnant water. “I thought that was in China. Or Japan.” I said absently. I wasn’t really sure on how other works of fiction interacted with the House.

“All three are correct, depending on your perspective.” Sid said cheerfully.

“Oh. Good.” I wasn’t sure what I was glad about but I was glad. The world was still spinning and everything was all right. Everything would be all right.

Ahead lay the towering form of the Bodhi tree.