A thought sends Schön off on a brief digression, his gaze growing distant. "A story comes to mind, of two great forces--one, for light and order, the other for shadow and chaos--who used whole cultures as proxies in their argument about which path was correct. In the end, the younger races grew tired of being pawns, and grew strong enough to cast both great forces out." He takes a sip of tea and sighs. "Your pardon, I'm woolgathering. Philemon did not, then, show you anything that might be called its true face?"