“History is a bridge, stretching across a vast chasm, made a fibrous joints, wrapping around each other as the lives of those they represent are intertwined.”

“Poetic today, aren’t we?” a laugh. “But what does this have to do with that thing the other night?”

“That thing was one of the creatures that crawls along the surfaces of the bridge.”

“I’m not sure your metaphor is working here.”

“I assure you, it’s accurate, and that is why it isn’t working for you. For you, history is just a book, but as I have said, it’s a bridge. With the right skills, one can leave the structure and go for a stroll down it. Though most who do so are promptly eaten, by things like that.”

“Let’s say I accept your explanation, despite my expression, how does that explain why it was here?”

“Something wounded history, it dug into the wound and emerged here. Beyond that, it’s hard to say. Especially post mortem.”

“How so?”

“If we’d studied it, we might have been able to determine how smart it was and what it’s intent was. It could have simply been acting on instinct, cleaning the wound so it would heal.”

“So it could have been the good guy, if a bit indescriminate in the killing? That’s a bit hard to swallow.”

“There are other possibilities. But with it dead, we can guess.”

“You perhaps, I’m still wrapping my head around this whole bridge.”