From his perch Percival saw things others didn't.
The landscape rolled out beneath him, smoothing into distant corners; people speckled about like grains of sand; the vast sky sweeping out in infinite impossible directions.
It seemed, ironically, magical.
What intrigued Percival more were held hands, secret glances, mouths moving with whispers not intended for him.
That was the gift of tall silence: people forgot you were there.
So Percival learnt that Camelot, city of fire and death, was actually city of love.
It's funny, he thought, head bobbing along, substantially higher than anyone else's, what you see from up here.