"Look," Michaelson said. "I'm sure I've convinced you that I'm human. Why not have a try at negotiating our differences?"
He looked up. His expressive eyes, deep, resigned, studied Michaelson's face. Finally he shook his head sadly. "When we first met I hoped we could think the ancient thoughts together. But our paths diverge. We have finished, you and I."
He turned and started off, shoulders slumped dejectedly.
Michaelson caught up to him. "Are you leaving the city?"
"No."
"Where are you going?"
"Away. Far away." Maota looked off toward the hills, eyes distant.
"Don't be stupid, old man. How can you go far away and not leave the city?"
"There are many directions. You would not understand."
"East. West. North. South. Up. Down."