7. The trap.

Of all the traps he had ever faced, all the temptations and distractions, he had met his greatest defeats through cleverness.

At times he hadn't been clever, and was envious of the cleverness of those around him. Then there were the lives in which he had been clever. He expressed it in small, cutting remarks he believed no one understood (not having the memories of what it was like not being clever before). He had carried himself through whole lives in an envy of cleverness or letting cleverness carry him. In all these lives he had realized the essential at the very end. And he had tried to hold on to it, take the lesson with him, but he forgot it in each lifetime. Each lifetime but one.

The image of the bridge was still clear in his mind, though his eyes were trained on the street in front of him.

This is how he would have looked to those watching him, if there had been any: a handsome young man, perhaps a bit tired, but beautiful in a way that no two observers would have easily agreed upon. His eyes were heavy-lidded, like he was just on the brink of falling asleep, had his movements not been so precise, so efficient. The corners of his full lips looked one moment as though they were about to break into a smile, and the next perfectly expressionless, but they hadn't moved. And he walked with a fluid grace that spoke of purposelessness, but there was nothing aimless about him.

He smelled a little of the street around him, but of fear, or exertion, or despair (and all these have scents) there was no trace. A mild sweetness stayed close to his skin, a scent a little like honey, which was also suggested by his gently golden hue, like he had been caressed by the sun. It was a smell of flowers too, of rare wood, of precious spices, but so subtle that the scent never coalesced into any one thing or lingered long enough to be identified.