While Archer sleeps, they discuss.
"There is a form of human poetry based on numerical symmetry, the Haiku, built on five, seven, and then five again."
"It sounds very simplistic, as expected for something of human origin."
"There is beauty in simplicity, perhaps more so than in complexity."
She moves her finger gently through the day-heated sand beneath them, and writes.
These suns upon sand
Memories of the desert
Birthplace of logic
It is… interesting. She feels foolish. She feels content.
She moves her palm over the sand, the letters, and wipes them away.
Archer wakes.
And they move on.