“He remembers the peculiar, special warmth of days in southern France. The sharp smell in the air of sun on pine trees. Of fires. These smells and that warmth on his skin come to him before he sees anything.
“He is in a squat tower then, looking out through iron bars at a sun-drench green landscape; the tower is part of a city wall. But knowing he is again in a dream, it is easy to free himself, to sit in judgment instead.”