[ WP ] You were born with the ability to know what is buried beneath your feet . You have worked for years alongside archaeologists finding lost cities and ancient treasures ; however , today is the first time you have ever said `` We should not dig here . ''

``.. Why *ever* not!?'' 
 
 Without looking up, I answered Dr. Livingstone's `` question'' with a tired yet resolute sidelong glance. 
 
 He stood there, statuesque, leaning contrapposto onto his left side -like usual- one ruddy gnarled hand clawing at the swirling amber orb sitting atop his hickory walking stick, wielding it in agitated semicircles as if he were attempting to start the dig himself. The light from the dying sun shone through and refracted off the amber, glinting here and there the dig site. 
 
 -- - This was a tic of his, to which he had oft claimed, quite assuredly, `` it helps me think, dear fellow - you should try it sometime; thinking, that is..'' and then he'd give a wink. I'd say the wink was pretentious as hell, but then I'd be stating the obvious. Because, Victorian explorers. A *real* vanilla burden, that. Africa awaits and all. You know. 
 
 `` The fear you are presently experiencing is directly proportional to the potential glory of the discovery, I'll have you know. The holy grail of lost cities sits, now, beneath your wary feet.. Dig, and win it, boy.'' 
 
 Wanker. 
 
 His obvious rhetorical prowess, matched with his being um a *fucking* ghost, no less the ghost of an iconic historical figure - plus, you know, that high-flung Victorian accent - while all very convincing, did n't exactly eclipse his condescension. It dripped with a smug moral certitude that could rival Yawheh. 
 
 The crevice created in the rustic dirt beneath his stick had become increasingly pronounced. His ambition showed through. I enjoyed this observation of mine. It made his already titanic presence a little less so, and emboldened the confidence in my hesitation to dig. 
 
 I looked into his eyes squarely now. 
 
 Being in the company of mortals, I hesitated to hazard a response to the stately specter, but my look stood its ground. And he knew it. 
 
 But the determination in him grew nonetheless. L began to look, weirdly enough, vulnerable, even *human*. The good doctor was glowing more than ever; his appearance, less apparitional and more.. well, less *apparent. * He looked alive. 
 
 It was his lifeblood. Chasing down dragons on the map and replacing them with his namesakes. Mastering the globe. Vanquishing mystery. Bringing order to the chaos. `` Not a stone unturned, chap - till my dying days..'' 
 
 I had n't the heart to tell him. He *felt* he was still alive -living- who was I to tell him otherwise? It'd crush him. 
 
 But what stood beneath his feet, my feet, the collective feet -- and fate -- of humankind, was dire. Gobekli Tepe had secrets to reveal which would alter everything. It was n't time.
