One night, drawn by a voice that was perhaps the memory of one, we found a hollow like a well, its lip rimmed with stones that hummed when struck. In the center, something breathed: a slow, low inhalation that moved the dust like a tide. We did not know whether to be afraid or reverent; the distinction blurred. The captain — a woman who had broken her watch to use the hands as a compass — set a small flag on a rock and, with a grin that was almost brave, called it discovery.