Each of the pilgrims has ways of seeing the goddess for a moment, but not a single way to hold onto her, much less to ask for something. Leaving Gooma with their library of scrolls and their notes about how to call Govra, they bow down and dissolve into the twilight.

Sparkling loud bubbles, ornate knots, sparks, sighs of ancient poems, steam and grains of sand, dry stems — Gooma time and time again creates those fleeting moments. Here it was, and here it is not.

And then he integrates this multitude into a system to repeat many times all these shifting moments and braid them all together. If he can, he will make her stay. He will persuade her to listen. He will ask for others, and maybe he will get his question answered too?

On the cliff, at the end of the day, in an instant, when the wind subsided, and the clouds hid the last rays of light, Gooma launches the chain of events to which Govra responds.