I asked her, "How did you get here?" And in her eyes was a searching deep and long of miles upon miles trodden and future uncertain.

"Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains...On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery."
~The Road, Cormac McCarthy