death is obviously potentially everywhere at the same time , and in one sense it is no more true to say that he was on the battlements , picking vaguely at non-existent particles of glowing metal on the edge of his scythe blade , than that he was waist-deep in the foaming , rock-toothed waters in the depths of lancre gorge , his calcareous gaze sweeping downwards and stopping abruptly at a point where the torrent ran a few treacherous inches over a bed of angular pebbles .