Across the pastures came the sound of a little water drum. But beyond, the dark pine mountain throbbed deeper…  And the beat, from deep within, from the heart of the world, pulsed steadily, inaudibly, like the beat of a man’s blood. Each was the echo of the other, indivisible. But they were not quite in tune… So the man could not sleep.

— Frank Waters, The Man Who Killed the Deer