It was the small things like that which Oliver found himself dwelling on. When he positioned himself so quietly, and declared that he would do as was asked of him, and simply wait, he saw meaning in the small things, as if they carried with them the very embers of that future victory.
And who could say that they did not? If a single moment had vanished from the battle that Oliver had done with the Emerson's, he did not believe they would have had their victory. A single turn of the head different. They were all notes in a grand piece of music. One thing out of place, and it would not have been the same.
