"I can't stop," the shark rasped. "If I stop, I shall sink and die. That's the way I am made. I have to keep going always, and even when I get where I'm going, I'll have to keep on. That's living."

"Is it?"

"If you're a shark."

September rubbed at the blood on her knee. "Am I a shark?" she said faintly.

"You don't look like one, but I'm not a scientist."

"Am I dreaming? This feels like a dream."

"I don't think so. I could bite you, to see if it hurts."

"No, thank you." September looked out at the flat gray water, all severe and stark in the sunrise. "I have to keep going," she whispered.

"Yes."

"I have to keep going, so that I can keep going after that, forever and ever."

"Not forever."

"Why haven't you eaten me, shark? I ate the fish; I ought to be eaten."

"It doesn't work like that."

—The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making

I am almost home. In a manner of speaking (or two).