Little Birds' Bones

8/4/2019 Little Birds' Bones

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Little Birds’ Bones

By Avishen Saurty

The darkening sky lays itself over the far mountains, the chorus of evening birdsong laps at the edges of my hearing, but my thoughts are

elsewhere. I’m overlooking the field with my back to the shelter. This

evening has a particular smell about it, like that which precedes rain-

no- more like fruit that is soon to ripen, fall and splay its flesh and future

to the soil that grew it.

I turn around and my father hands to me some of the food we had

salvaged from the withering plains. No more great hunts for us, no planning on providing for more than just ourselves. It’s been this way for

some time. It wasn’t always, but what doesn’t change in this place?

Something about tonight is different. As we sit still, yesterday seems to

have never existed, nor the cycles past. Tonight, as the stars are called

out from the dark one at a time, I can feel my ancestors’ blood whisper

in mine. I can see the mountains rise and fall. I can almost feel something greater call all these things in this place to come forth, grow

and die. This is what they named the Earth’s call...

As three small leaves are carried by the wind to the edge of our shelter,

they bring with them a faint smell not of hair or feathers, nor water or

wood. Looking at my father for some kind of explanation, I see him look

away from the stars, as though they had spoken to him, and he asks

me whether I know what exactly is that which we name the Earth’s call.I want to answer, but I do not have the words, just the feeling. I know

that I would not name it the Earth’s call; I would call it a prayer.

“Even as you enjoy what feelings you have and as you bring about

what knowledge you have of this world, child, there is such a depth to

things that you cannot know. At the same time, things are only ever

simply what they are.”



He looks at the evening light, and of the figures in the sky he makes

people and places. They talk to him and ask him to remember. He

bestows on me, from that sky, the tale of the events that happened near

here, though far in time... because it has happened before. Three were

brought together out of selfish need, not knowing they would give each

other so much. Spurred away from a small, sandy settlement and

changing forever in the process were the hunter, the fisherman’s son

and the unknown girl.

CHAPTER 1: FOOTPRINTS OF HUMANS

She awoke to the rays of the sun caressing her cheeks. As it

descended from the top of the sky, light slowly filled her shelter. The first

thing to greet her was a sense of unfamiliarity. She had come to expectit. This place and these people, even the food, were all so different from

those she knew. Fear had also been waiting for her to wake. This, too,

was expected. She remembered running through the trees in the rain

while the ground crunched underfoot, then there was mud, and then

there was this place. She lay motionless for a while, listening to the

voices and happenings of the place outside, chatter, footsteps, until her

rested body couldn’t bear to stay so still. Crawling towards the partedleather sheets at the shelter’s entrance, she slowly exposed herself to

the world outside and all of its possible dangers.

She was in a small settlement on the high side of a sloped clearing. The

shelters were made of mud and straw, the powdered ground was

yellow, the air held the scent of rich leaves. Nearby, three women were

preparing rich leaves for a meal with a cup of bark. They turned to her

as she emerged from the shelter, then returned to their task in the

shade of a strange tree that held no branches, but giant leaves, each

one shaped like a bird’s tail. The lower end of the clearing continued to

a wide path that disappeared around large stones. The sun was

descending toward a distant hill, past the trees that surrounded this new

world. She took in the air of the place with a deep breath. Despite her

initial worry, it was deliciously new; all of these surroundings were full of

things that she hadn’t taken the opportunity to see before.



She looked around some more, there were some freshly sharpened

spears ready for use. Further on, across the shelters, she saw a small

clump of trees outlying a forest. She recognised them immediately. That

forest was where she emerged on the night that she started upon this

place. She couldn’t remember what it was she was running from, but

there had been something so very dark in there that she was somehow

still trying to escape.

The comfort of the shelter seemed increasingly inviting. She had only

parted the leather that covered the opening when she heard a small

noise that wrenched tears from her eyes; a giggle, a squeal of glee, the

sound of successive little stomping feet and a quick gasp for air, then

running again. The children were expending the last bits of energy they

had before the day would end. She had not the faintest idea why her

eyes filled with tears upon the sound of that one child, but she hadknown that laugh... She took a step away from the shelter, and another,

following the distant shouts and screams down the wide path lined with

bird-tailed trees.

Where the path disappeared behind large grey stones, she found her

own shadow, the sun now behind her. The trees immediately fell behind

at the bend, and she was standing in a field of yellow grass, adorned

with massive rocks that were orange in the light of the falling sun. There

were so many boulders it was as though the grass ran like rivers

through and between them. In parts the grass had been trampled in

further small paths that ran in every direction. Though the rocks were

too high to look over, she could hear the rustle of steps as the young

ones ran around trying to catch one another.

Where was the little voice that she knew? She followed the soundsdeeper into the maze of stones, following any one of the trampled paths

but the source furthered itself from her more and more. Eventually it

faded completely, and she was left only with the lament of the wind and

the unfamiliar song of a solitary bird. She sat against one of the large

rocks and in discouragement and despair, gave up. She could stay and

sleep right there, she wouldn’t go back. The birds could pick at her

bones after the night, for she came to realize that she had nothing left.



The sun fell behind a tall rock she was facing and, in her vacant state,

something on the face of it caught her eye. Maybe there was something

for her yet. Scratched into its surface in basic shapes sharp and black

against the grey was the figure of a man. He was standing with his arms

outstretched, singing to the sky. Next to that one, one another rock, she

saw a flock of birds, returning after the cold moons. There was a smaller

etching she couldn’t distinguish from afar. She leaned forward and

crawled towards the little picture. As she drew closer, its tiny shape

came into focus, two tall people, two small people; a family. She

immediately stood up and looked away, fighting back the tears, and

then she saw it… On the rock face where she had just contemplated

her death, was the shape of a herd at full gallop, of an endless storm, of

purest joy. In as many colours as there were emotions, a beautiful spiral

was painted to the stone and she could see things inside of it that could

have been known only to her. It glinted in the sunlight, intensifying the

feelings it evoked; swimming in the pool of a waterfall, dancing in

firelight, standing in an open field during the fragrant moons, the big

meal after the hunts, and then that one feeling she could never explain,

right there painted on the rock. All her truths were exposed to this

creation on the tall stone, as it spoke in words closer to her than any

language. They expelled her imaginations of loneliness as, for that

moment, she fell in love with its creator.

Overwhelmed with discovery and hope, she no longer felt like a

stranger, but part of a greater family, whose connections were based in

a deeper mystery of the Sky-born human core. As she started back she

noticed that there were a few more of those stories painted on the

larger rocks- strange how she hadn’t noticed them before.

. . .

I’ve seen this village, the gathering of shelters far on the other side of

the mountain. Some cycles ago, passing them on our way here, we

offered food in exchange for shelter. There had been more of us then.

My close friend and I had also explored the forest of stones, though the

grass was green from the fragrant moons when we walked its paths

and shapes. There was nobody there, it was as undisturbed as theriverside too far to reach, or the young things that have not learned yet



to fear. Captured by this place, and the images on the rock surfaces,

we walked for a long time until we saw a young boy standing in front of

a big stone, scratching at it with a small stone. He was crying. He was

carefully drawing in its surface, line by line, wiping tears away while he

did so. When he saw us he stepped away from rock, then, with passion,

he struck the large stone with his carving point, many times, with rage

and despair in his actions, ruining what he had begun to create. We

later came to know that the young boy had lost his mother to illness...

and that the forest of stones was used to remember those who had

been lost. As the unknown girl had learnt, all people have things in

common so deep to us that they are simply lost on the surface. My

understanding of the place expanded her discovery, and told of

something she hadn’t perceived. We all die.

Past the sunset hill, a low set shelter sat at the top of a steep riverbank.Around it, black feathered birds waited on the trees; a smell on the air

had beckoned them to the secluded shelter. Inside of it, a young man

sat beside his sleeping mother and his father. It had been some days

now, and they no longer looked like they would wake. His nights had

been full of tormenting images and his days full of tortuous thoughts.

Sometimes he would sit on the mossy rocks of the riverbank and throw

stones at the water, reminding him of when his father would fish.Sometimes he lay in the rain, knowing nobody would be curing his

shivers the next day.

Now that the birds had come, he could no longer leave the shelter and

walk the outside as if walking inside his mind. If he did, as was so easy,

when he returned there would be nothing left of his only loved ones but

bones and scraps. It was a cruel reality he was forced to realise that

morning when he opened the entrance and was met by the gaze of the

black feathered night, full of intent. He was made now to contemplate

the very real bones being exposed with all reason to scream at him the

reality of what had happened. For all those suns, for all the emotions he

had felt, not a tear did he shed, but then the tears just rushed at him like

a torrent, and he began to cry over them.

They had lived a secluded life in their shelter. It was built strong and theriver’s providence of fish allowed them to live without any help from



others. The children of the settlement always had strange games that

he didn’t understand. The marshlands had been his solitary playground.

Beyond that, his parents had provided all the care, instruction and

experience he had ever known.

After their departure, he found that for all they had given him, now he

had nothing. He couldn’t know what to do, deprived of their guidance

and knowledge. Through his misty vision he saw movement at theshelter entrance. A black bird pushed itself under the thick leather

sheets and hopped towards a cold soil caked foot. He grasped for the

bird and it retreated to the leather entrance. As it began to push itself

under the sheet, he pounded at it with one quick fist and a mangled bird

noise emitted as it was hit with bone shattering rage. The shelter had

become very different over such a small time; there was fear floating on

the air inside, the screams from his nightmares remained in the walls,and there must have been such a stench from the decay. He couldn’t

remain in the comfort of their presence, but he feared so much a world

alone. As the two alternatives bounced back and forth in his mind, the

idea of a world that belonged to him alone slowly coated the walls of his

mind, growing richer with each internal conflict.

Taking the first truly independent action of his life he clutched and pulled

to tear off a large leather sheet lining the inside of his shelter. Mournfully

he laid the fabric over his mother’s body and tucked its sides under her

arms and legs. Who now would he go for consolation or comfort, other

than himself? Forcefully he tore off the only other sheet large enough

for its purpose; the shelter entrance. The birds swarmed in as he

covered his father’s body. Through the relentless beating of wings and

greedy pecks, he tucked the heavy sheet under his arms, under his

legs. He knew there would be nobody to instruct him on how to live,

what was to be done and when. Despite the mayhem, the cuts and

scratches he received from the indiscriminate birds, he moved over to

his mother’s body and carried her outside of the shelter. The world was,

at the same time, under his sole control and in overwhelming control

over him.

The shelter had been full of chaos, but that was only a fraction of themass that waited outside. They descended with a rain of leaves and



feathers, beaks and claws, but he held tight the sheet against the body

of his loved one even as they pecked at his arms and ribs. He carried

her to the bottom of the steep riverbank, and under a cyclone of

ravenous chaos he lowered her body onto the river’s flow. The body

sank a little below the water under the weight of the sheet. He finally let

go of her, and she was taken steadily by the current. Even then, they

followed her, cawing, like a black mist that she did not deserve. The

ground was now covered in feathers and leaves. Most of the birds had

gone down the river, but some that had been in the tent remained.

When he reached his father’s body, they had started pecking through

fresh holes in the leather. Regardless, he lifted his father’s body, with

effort, and slowly carried him away. Less in numbers, they were more

fearful to approach, instead watched him from afar as he reached the

edge of the river which swept over his feet. He lowered his father’s body

onto the surface and let him go. He was taken by the river, leaving a red

trail behind. The young man looked at his hands; they were covered in

blood.

He sat on the riverbank for a long time, watching the river flow. He was

at the same time unburdened and weighed down; the suns ahead were

his own. What were they to be full of? Confronted with this new space

that was frightening and alluring, he longed for something smaller.Crawling back to the shelter, he remained in the dark and the feathers

and something else, until the sun fell under the earth and sleep covered

him like a shadow.

. . .

The suns ahead are born from our actions now, and our actions now

are born from the choices we make. Maybe in the way of the world, by chance, the birds nested on those trees, and so his choice was luck

upon luck, and by chance and understanding, made.

. . .

It was a cold and misty morning on the sunset hill between the

settlement and the pastures where the horses were to be grazing. A

hunter navigated its rocks and grassy slopes, walking slowly in the fog.



He carried an ornamented spear and a shield adorned with grass and

leaves to hide his scent. Now they simply burdened his journey, for they

had been of no use at all.

The previous moon, they had hidden in the cold, expecting the horses

to be sleeping at the last light of day. The field was dark, with not even a

clear sky to spy by. They searched, but could find no herd, nor any clue

as to where the horses had gone. Time went by and their silent huntpersisted past the middle of the night. The hunter with the grassy shield

had been following a faint trail through the grass. It led him to a slow

moving body of water fed by a river and he could hear that it fell away

down a small cliff. He leaned over and peered into the darkness, and

saw something moving on the ripples. A whistle sounded from a

distance behind him; they were returning home. The sun’s dawning light

would have been a blow to anybody’s pride. He whistled back; Hewould return in time. Examining the edge of the water, he saw a stained

and torn leather sheet. Looking further on he saw the grass was heavily

trampled on the other side of the water, with many hoof prints in the

sand on the bank; a stampede. The sun had begun to break the clouds

far away. If something had spooked the horses, there was no use trying

to hunt until later in the day.

. . .

He walked up the hill through the fog that had settled on its side,

carrying with him his shield and spear. He had been hunting for more

seasons than he could count, and carried many proud scars on his

chest as a result. Though his experience in the hunt had helped him in

the long grass, now in the fog, he was at the mercy of the hill. The

further he walked, the heavier the fog became, until he could only seethe ground where his feet were about to tread. He stepped onto a large

flat rock, and assured himself he would soon reach a vantage point,

when the sun rose over the clouds and into the blue sky. Immediately,

entirely, the fog was imbued with a bright yellow light, blinding him to the

world around. He wished he could see where he was, but he was

incapacitated. For all his strength, he was held still beyond his will.

Anywhere around that rock could hold a slippery footing, a snake in thegrass, a plummeting fall. With no avenue for him until time itself



decided, he waited, and in stillness his mind began to speak to him.

“You can only ever see, what the world around you allows you to see.

To navigate this place, you will judge it by the situations presented to

you. But how do you see beyond what you can?” He thought he saw

something, the shape of something, in the misty light. “You only see

what you want to see, but what is it you are looking for?”

. . .

He tapped the ground and looked around. Slowly the fog began to thin

until he could discern dark leaved trees climbing up the hill, and the

sharp rocks through which he had clambered. Between these,

continuing a gentler slope, bushes showed the way around the hill back

to his home. The clean white fog withdrew and he was brought out into

a clear warm day. He could see the fields far below, and, in the

distance, the horses grazing. All was clear, except for the trees up the

hill that still held some mist. He looked at the bushes that would lead

him home, and then to the distant fog that beckoned him like an old

friend. “What is it you are looking for?” It would be a harder path, but it

would still lead him home. He stepped off the flat rock and slowly made

his way up through the trees.

The fog thinned out of existence, and he began to wonder why he waseven walking that way. As he climbed the slope, it became steeper until

the trees could no longer find root and he was walking on thin pieces of

fragmented rocks. Forced to walk around the hill, its slope now a wall,

he found, once again, his choice of actions determined by his situation.

If only he had known, if only there were a way to have seen this far

ahead, he would have gone the other way.

No longer able to cross the hill, he had to pass through a part he had

never before seen. The ground was covered in fragmented flat chips of

rock that crunched under his feet. There were many trees around, but

they all were black and leafless, branches sharp and pointed at the sky.

There was stillness in the air and it was so quiet that each of his

crunching footsteps travelled back to him from the trees. He walked

arduously around the unexplored slopes when something downhill

caught his eye through the grey, brown and black surroundings; a soft



shape, colour like skin. It became clearer as he approached.

Some part of him must have known, to come this way. Some part of him

must have wanted him to see the beckoning in the fog.

A man was among the trees, on his stomach. Around him, black

patches covered the ground in a pattern like blood spurts from a wound.

The hunter grasped his spear and shield, and, with all senses alert,

made his way down to the bloody scene. The man’s head was tilted

sideways, his eyes open and his jaw agape. His hands were covered in

strange bruises like illness. Through his side was a large wound, but

one man could not have bled that much. Looking at the bloodstained

ground, he noticed pieces of colour strewn about, scraps of clothing. He

stepped towards them. At the bottom of a tree, he found a blood soaked

dress, but nothing else. There was no body. He stepped back and a low

branch of the tree caught the back of his head. He briskly turned, spear

in hand, and saw a bangle hanging off the branch. On a far tree, a small

tunic hung, decorated with beads, black when it should have been

brown. His heart pounded in his chest; he had seen people die, but this

was something worse. He could feel the screams on the still air. They

shivered his spine and rattled his spirit. He wished to leave but he could

not do so yet. He looked on the dead man, and dug a small hole among

the rock chips. He took his shield and pressed it against the man’s

neck, removing his head. He respectfully covered it under the earth.

There was no more that could be done there.

He walked with an empty feeling in his heart. What horror those people

must have known, for their last moments to have been so dreadful. He

tried to make sense of it, find a reason for such pain. The sound of rock

chips under his feet sickened him, for each time he was reminded thathe was in that foreign place, home to such a wrong thing. The grey,

black and brown world was draining the colour from him. He didn’t

even want to breathe the air around there, nor have its sounds in his

ears, but could not bring himself to walk faster than a mournful pace,

out of respect for those who had met such an end there, in the middle of

nothing.

The sun had reached its peak and, tired, he sat down. He closed his



eyes to at least keep out the sights, when out of the eerie silence came

a sound that resonated within his hearing. Carried on the wind from

over the hill, birdsong reached his ears. Never before had he heard

such a peaceful sound, such a comfort, as to be closer to home. He got

up, and, standing right between joy and despair, it became very clear,

the reason that had eluded him before. For joy to even exist, for

birdsong to be bliss, there must first be pain, else the birdsong is but a

sound.

CHAPTER 2: SOIL AND PEACE

She sat on the dusty yellow ground and laughed at the children’s antics

as they played around her. Although they did not speak the same

words, they shared a special sort of communication. She did learn oneword, a greeting. The girl who had been caring for her those past few

suns taught her other words but she had forgotten them. Of all the

people in the clearing, this girl was the one with whom she could feel

safest. There was a warmth to her that came from her core, that

reminded her of family. One young boy walked to her side; this was the

friend who’d found her at the field, the one whose laugh was so familiar.

He touched her arm and yelled something, then smiled. Just asenergetically he ran off as the children began a game of which he

wanted a part.

She was content, although nearby, always in view, was the clump of

trees outlying the forest. Sometimes it would catch her eye, whispering

to her that not all was well. The dark thing that had wanted to claim her

had not yet moved on. At these thoughts she couldn’t help turn around,

towards the forest and look into the depths that held those dark

promises. She thought she saw she shadows move, but reminded

herself that she’d imagined it before. There was motion again, as the

shadows lingered behind. She could no longer hear the children play,

so intensely focused was she on the trees. Branches parted and leaves

gave way. Tears began to run from her eyes as an inexplicable terror

gripped her body, and she tensed. It was not a shadow, it was reality,

and on the cusp of her nightmare, she saw a form emerge... “No, no,



no” she thought. She screamed and got up to run. She stumbled in her

panic, tried to pick herself up from the ground. The children had stopped

playing and simply stared at her. She heard footsteps. When she got up

she was met by a warm hold and arms thrown around her. She

recognized the soothing voice, although the words were lost on her.

Crying out of pure fear and anguish, she held tight that one person she

thought of as safe, with her back to the trees, not knowing what was

coming out of that dark place. She began to shiver, and as memories of

that night flashed at her, she desperately did not want to go back to

them. Her legs gave way and, together, they fell slowly to the ground.

She had her eyes closed tight, her fists clenched, and she breathed in

gasps. The memories were returning to her, and she couldn’t stop them.

. . .

She grew up in a large settlement with a small family. She lived with her

parents, her grandfather and her younger brother. Her grandfather had

been able to, for all his life, speak with the world above. His eyes could

see beyond the face and witness the spirit behind it. His son, her father,

had not been gifted as such, but had been drawn to somebody with

another gift. Her mother had the ability to turn stagnant rocks into the

freest animal forms. With small, sharp rocks and a state of trance, she

carved small things, lizards, owls, and sky shapes that guarded their

shelter and the shelters of friends. For the last few cycles, she had been

carving a large animal being in the wall of a small cliff. It was almost

finished; all that was left to complete its wolf form were its feet. Until

then, the wolf was to be held to the stone. It was the last of seven sky

statues in their settlement. Each one was made through many cycles of

one person’s life, designed to reflect one of the forms of the great

watcher and provider. By looking deep into this reflection, people would

find strength, comfort, or purpose.

‘Follow the river against its course, when you return you will find me’, is

what her grandfather heard the statue say, on the day that would

determine their journey. When he got back to the main shelter, he was

enthused but too worn-out to speak. From his body’s weakness from

age, illness had crept into him and when he told the settlement what hehad heard, they did not trust him. The people said that the spirits were



displeased with him, and that was why he was afflicted with disease.

After that moon, while all were still sleeping, her grandfather left the

settlement. Her little brother had followed him, and once the sun

appeared, a panic had taken all in the shelter. Her mother and her

father hurriedly went in search of them, not knowing how long it had

been and how far they had gone. She too hurried after, but finding them

did not take long. Standing on a flat portion of grass at the edge of a

river, her little brother was standing by their grandfather’s side. It

appeared they hadn’t walked much, but had been calmly waiting for

them. Her mother reached out to hold her only son, when something

imposing echoed from up the river. It was a tremendous howl, like a

wolf’s. Seeming to come from the sky itself, they all heard something

more in that howl. Some suns later a band of seven faithful left the

settlement to seek the great watcher and provider.

They followed the river upstream, to where it had cut a deep path

through the ground, leaving two steep walls to line its banks. As if to

correct their heading, the howl was again heard, only it was not

upstream, but some distance across the river, past the cliffs of the

riverbank. Though there was no way to cross, eventually they passed a

point where the ground had held fast and bridged one cliff to the other.

They crossed it and walked on that new land, as the sun rose, shonehigh in the sky, and began to fall. One whole day had passed when they

somehow found the river again. Its waters were faster, clearer and

refreshing. They resumed their upstream journey, until the deep

shadows of night began to appear, and her father spied a safe spot to

rest across the river, some distance up a hill. It was a clear area that

faced the moon, with only thin trees to obscure vision. With a clear sky

and in numbers, there should have been no danger. They crossed atthe edge of a jungle and the clearer, steeper hillside. The sun had just

hidden itself away and was taking its light with it as they reached their

resting spot.

When the howl resounded, it was much closer. It was too dark to see

where and what it was, but a terrible fear took her heart when, from

such a small distance away, she could hear something behind the howl;

it had never been a wolf’s, it was a human sound.



. . .

Lying on the lap of the girl who cared for her, she shivered and cried,

spasmed and twitched, as she retreated into her nightmare. There was

also a man who knelt by her, contemplating the tragedy of what had

happened to her. He was the only other who knew. When the hunters

left again for the fields, he remained behind, looking on the younger girl

with pity and regret. He knew what had happened to her, but could notfathom it. Something, within or outside of him, had led him to the truth of

what had happened, that message in the fog. He did not know what to

do with such a strange gift of circumstances, other than remain by her

side.

She looked asleep but her eyes stared blankly at the empty space

around which the shelters sat. She felt as far away from the watcher

than she had ever been. She felt that no part of her was sky; she was

purely earth, as simple meat and bones as a bird. Her faith was almost

broken. Had they not listened to the call, or even the statue’s calling, all

of their lives would have still been under the sun. So what good had

following the watcher and provider’s will brought? Why would they have

been even asked to go? If there was a purpose behind the watcher’s

providence, she did not know it. Her mother had devoted herself for

cycles to bringing out the image of the watcher and provider out of that

cliff face. She had imbued it with love and purpose. Her grandfather had

sacrificed much of the joys of his life, to be a vessel for the watcher and

provider’s voice. Same could be said of the two faithful that had come

with them. But what of her brother, too young to have even seen a hunt,

so harmless and playful, he had a laugh that could clear a cloudy day.

What kind of watcher would allow such grief to the people that had

placed their lives in the sky’s hand? For such a trick to be played on

them that their faith would be turned on itself, with the wolf’s howl, was

something so unusual that it hurt.

The sun had begun to fall when the pack returned. Two horses were

being dragged with them, lifeless, limp and covered in scratches from

the rocks on the hill. The hunters were tired but relieved and proud of

their catch; one grown mare and an adolescent. The horses weredragged further to one of the shelters. Somebody called out in their



direction, and the girl on whom she was lying said something soft to her,

and sat her up, before walking to the small crowd gathered around the

horses. The girl’s limp body only kept her sitting for a few moments

before she began to fall back, but somebody caught her. They were

hands not soft but hard, and a support not so gentle but caring. Her

trance was broken and she was aware of the world around her; it was

the third person who had been waiting with them. Brought back into her

body she sat herself properly, and the stranger did not move.

. . .

The hunter looked on the fruits of the hunt being prepared. The younger

horse’s eyes and jaw were wide open, and he was reminded a similar

scene. He watched as they drained the blood from the horses, and

removed their organs. He watched as, with sharpened flat stones, they

removed the hard skin, and they cut the muscles off limbs. The girl, too,

watched the people work around the two corpses. Blood stained the

grass where she had once laxly watched the sun’s course. She looked

as the gentle girl calmly and slowly removed the pieces of the youngest

animal, and it looked like less and less of a horse each time. She didn’t

know why, but what she looked on hurt her immensely.

Where before she had asked “what was the will of whom that wouldallow such pain?” now she looked at the answer in its graphic truth. The

other girl’s hands were now covered in blood, as her bright and soft face

was directed as the next piece of the animal to prepare. The same

hands that had held her just before were now tearing the horse to

pieces. “Why, what is the excuse?” she asked out loud. She could not

let her faith slip any more. Driven by hunger, they exposed the secrets

that hid under the tough skin of the horse. The violent actions of the girlwere not guided by cruelty, they were for the better of the people. As

she watched the person she loved commit the same actions that were

inflicted on those she loved, she realised the rule that all living things

have to obey, the way of the world.

She felt the soil under her hands, and the thousands of grains that were

in it, each responding to each other, responding to the wind, responding

to her fingers, and she passed the reason from the watcher to the



world.

. . .

The man had seen many hunts and done much killing in his life, but for

the first time, he questioned it. These fresh deaths were all so horrid.

But in order to prevent the chaotic nature of the wild world from

consuming them, his people worked to keep their peace. The order they

exerted on the world, born from the world, in order to remain in the

world, there was a word for it; justice. The goal of it was simply to be

allowed to exist, to minimise the weight of chaos, to create peace. As he

looked on the girl in the midst of her pain, that same pain he felt at the

bloody scene, he realized he was tied to it, now that he knew. At the

end of the sun’s journey, as the meal fire was being prepared, he

thought he wished for peace in the world, where what he actually

sought was peace in himself.

His hands grasped the soil, as if taking the way of the world into his

hands, and in doing so, sought to claim justice on the child of chaos.

. . .

The feast had been prepared and all the families sat in the

clearing. The firelight flickered on the faces of people laughing, talking,eating and resting. When the firelight caught something moving against

the black of the forest, the hunter rose immediately. A young man

walked towards the people of the settlement, dishevelled and sluggish.

‘Hey! Who is that?’ The people turned towards the young man, the

faces of those closest to him dark in the shadow of the fire. ‘River’s

Eye’, he answered. His name came from that form that, when several

currents meet, shows as an eye on the surface of moving water. ‘Youknew my parents,’ he pointed vaguely in the direction of the place he

called home, ‘near the river’. There was hushed surprise, all wanted to

ask the obvious question, but none could break the sudden silence.

Unyielding, he stood in front of them, tired and hungry, when the hunter

made a motion of beckoning. The fisherman’s son, finally free of his

own whim, walked around to him, as the meal and gossip slowly

resumed. The girl lifted her head to the newcomer. He was taken aback



by the gesture; Her eyes shone like sun through falling water, her

expression was lit perfectly by the firelight, and her form was small that

hid something much larger. For a moment he was captured; he had

never known such an emotion could be instilled in him by another

person, for it was the first time he had seen such a beautiful being, ‘You

can sit here’. The hunter’s voice broke his trance, and only briefly did he

perplex himself with his own emotions.

He sat on the other side of the man that had called to him. The man

reached for a piece of meat off a stone slab and offered it to him, ‘Here,

have some food’. The famished young man took the cooked meat

without hesitation and, driven by a tongue deprived of taste for too long,

took big bites out of the neck of horse. Juice from the cooked food

dripped down his chin as he nodded to the hunter in gratitude. It was

the first proper food he had eaten since his life changed. All had notoccurred as his mind had decided. He had thought to control his own

future, but had been unable to. Food and safety had become secondary

to a larger need, a fundamental part of him that he sought and could not

find; a refuge of sorts.

‘River’s Eye, what happened to your parents? What brings you here?’

‘I could smell the food from my home, I haven’t eaten something goodin so long, since there’s nobody there anymore.’

The hunter remembered the fisherman. While his family never came to

the settlement much, when they did, they had always been treated as

one of their own. He looked to the fisherman’s son who had wandered

from his empty home near the river, and realised his being there was as

important as that misty morning. The hunter offered him another share

of the plentiful food.

‘Look here,’

The hunter signalled to a picture drawn into the soil in front of them. It

cast shadows on itself from the small ridges and troughs that were its

form, two large lines with various smaller features around and between

them.



‘…this,’

He pointed to the outside of one of the lines,

‘… is where we are’,

He pointed to the outside of the other line,

‘and this shows where her home is.’

The fisherman’s son looked towards the young girl, who glanced at him

with faint hope in her expression. He wondered who exactly this girl

was, she who seemed as much a stranger here as he.

‘You know the river more than I, and I, more the plains and forest than

you, and I cannot understand where this would be...’

The fisherman’s son looked at the image while chewing intensively.

After some time, he noticed the first line ran between where they were,

and what could have been a hill. There was only one place this could be

found, whereupon the significance of the lines became so obvious; they

were rivers.

‘I think I understand; these are rivers, this is that hill,’ he pointed to the

sunset hill, ‘and that is the dark blue mountain. Can you see? There isyour settlement, and the plains would be here’.

The girl watched him as he gestured at the marks she had made, and

he seemed to understand it. Both men were engrossed in the design

that was to lead her home. While at the clearing settlement, the gentle

girl cared for her, and the children loved her, there was a fundamental

part of her that she was desperately missing; a refuge of sorts.

She raised herself from the ground and moved towards the drawn

marks both men were deciphering. They both looked up as she

approached. When she was close enough, she looked at the younger

man, lifted her hand, and began to trace the journey. She started on the

far end of the map, at her home, and moved her finger to the river and

up its course. There was a crossing at a bridge, and then a large dark

shape. She followed the path with dispassionate calm, but the boy stillcould not believe the sense of beauty from her. The invisible path drew



to the other river, the one familiar to them, and travelled up until a path

of stones, then crossed it. She traced up and around a hill, the side of

the hill the hunter had walked that same morning. Her finger began to

shake as she traced around it. Before she could continue, her hands

were cupped by two larger hands, the warmth holding in the dread, as

the man slowly withdrew them from the map. She looked up at him, fear

showing in her eyes, but it soon faded into only sadness.

‘The furthest I know is that large shape, it is a giant thing I’ve seen from

a distance, but our river, in that entire part, is not easy to cross,’

‘I will find a way,’

This hunter seemed to impose his own desire onto the world, an ability

fuelled by a strong will, something the fisherman’s son was excited to

witness.

‘So why is it you want to reach there?’

‘This girl...’

He tilted his head in her direction, an expression of regret and

determination casting shadows over his features.

‘...she has lost everything, and I’m trying to give her back some part of

what she lost’.

These words resonated inside the young man’s mind; so sadly did he

seek a small taste of what had been lost. He looked into the fire, then at

the people speaking and smiling in the light that shone up at them. He

was out of place, but there was some purpose to his being there. There

was a purpose to his being, he could feel it, but he was lacking a will tomove himself, for he simply did not know where to go. There, at that

fire, in that settlement, in front of those two, he saw both aspects of

what he sought. One had the will to mould the world and the other was

headed to a place called home.

‘What is your name, hunter?’

‘Far Shade,’



‘I can show you how to reach this place,’

. . .

Home... I look around at the moonlit borders of these rocks that are my

home. From the mouth of this cave I can see the clouds floating light

and lonely against the river of stars. Inside of our shelter I see our work,the walls, the etches in the leather, the matted grass and the two

people, us. We have seen many shelters, all kinds, on our way until we

found this one. It wasn’t through chance, but through realization.

If I was alone here, there would have been no difference from a

reflection of my mind. What is different is that I allow others to be in this

feeling with me, and that is what makes it home.. . .

CHAPTER 3: SKIES

So began the pilgrimage, each for their own reasons and each for the

best reasons. That night’s sleep would have to be full of rest, for

arduous travel lay ahead of them, at least one sun, and some of the

moon, through a nameless land between two rivers.

In the world they slept in, they dreamt, one near a dying fire, one in a

crowded shelter, and one on the soft grass. In the world of the sky, the

three stars of which they were reflections had begun a journey, driven

by a purpose that would expose their human reflections to the most

violent changes and wildest truths. As, caught in sleep, the barriers

between sky and earth began to fade, they were bestowed dreams;vision through the eyes of their deeper selves.

. . .

River’s Eye woke up somewhere far above the trees. All around him

was sloped rock, some steep mountain. Ahead of him, a flatter path led

upwards into a cloud. The cool air smelt of berries, and the sky winds

sang long chants in tunes that were old as the moon. Walking throughthe cloud, his hair became wet, and so did his clothing. He emerged



above it to a flat and empty expanse of rock; the mountaintop. There

was nothing there but a dead bird splayed on the ground. Its small eyes

had begun decaying. He was walking towards it when, from behind the

wind’s chant, he heard a voice. While he’d never heard such a voice

before, he knew that it was that girl from the fire. It came from ahead of

him, from beyond the limits of the flat mountaintop. Walking toward the

edge, he peered over and saw a vertical fall into rocks and a forest far

below, but there was nobody. He knew he had heard her. Perplexed he

straightened up, looked around for her, when his stare met the dead

bird’s eyes. It had its head lifted into the air and its dead gaze fixed on

him. There had been no voice. There was nothing on the mountaintop

but him and something arcane and wilful. Stepping back out of terror,

from being caught alone in the loneliest of places, he unthinkingly

retreated off the edge and fell.

Pale Sky called and called for somebody, but no one could find her. Lost

in a nauseating sea of colour, she longed for something tactile, so she

opened her palms in the hope that somebody would reach for her. She

was alone and in need of human contact, and there was no abating her

distress. Then something happened; the waves of colour began to melt

away, until she was standing on a flat stone, surrounded by countless

other stones in the midst of a river of colour. The sky was black, thoughall was illuminated, and far on the horizon, trees swayed in an unfelt

breeze. Close to her she saw, though she had not known it before, the

hunter was stranded on one of the rocks with his eyes closed, alone

and in need of human contact. She hopped the stones, over the watery

colours, to him. As she reached out, he began to smile. She held onto

his hand, and his eyes opened, full of colour reflected from the water.

Far Shade heard music beside his ears. He opened his eyes and saw a

young boy, his features dim and pale, as though there were fog

between them, where there was none. The boy was sitting on the

ground, against a background of large dark green trees, holding

something in his hand; long and little bones tied together in a row. He

held the instrument below his mouth, and when he blew over it, the

most haunting sounds would emanate. The sounds would travel through

the trees, into the air, around his body. Sitting in front of this boy, he fell



asleep inside his dream, captured entirely by the music. When he woke

up, there was nobody. He rose to his feet and looked around. The large

green trees lined a large dusty path. He found the boy standing where

the path disappeared downhill, against massive mountains grey and

blue. Before the boy disappeared down the other side, he lifted his arm

with the wind instrument in hand. Looking directly at him, he posed the

instrument on the ground. It was a gaze that could be felt even over that

great distance and it simply meant, ‘This is for you’.

. . .

“You see all these things? This rocky floor, this sky, these trees; where

did they all come from? What controlled the wind that caused that

distant tree to grow in such a way, that its shadow in the moon is now directed toward us? What placed that moon in the sky, casting light and

folly on the world, and for the nature of each thing under it to be

directed to any inspired action? What of a long past childhood

occurrence made me become this man who tells you this now? What

original howl began everything upon everything, leaving it only to the

rule of chaos...?”

“But now as you confront this truth, don’t you feel something more? As

you recognise and accept yourself as part of this existence, and one

with its one law, you may feel you are a reflection of something more.

Just as the moon’s energy says something more about it, than just

being a faraway rock, and the earth’s breath, if you hear it, resonates at

your frequency, caring like a mother. That is the world of energy, from

which we draw love, hope, faith, and all the various translations of those

purest states.”

. . .

Some seek peace and some seek justice, but all are tied to the

uncontrollable chaos of everything in existence. It is as unescapable as

the blood in our veins; we are a part of this world. Peace not from the

absence of the wild winds of the world, but from the simplicity of

accepting them. I can hear the earth’s prayer loud and clear; it echoes



in my body.

. .

.

CHAPTER 4: THE CONTENTS OF A HOME

The hunter was in his shelter, equipping himself for a journey he had

chosen but hadn’t yet completely accepted. He picked up his shield, stilldark at the tip, and he picked up a leather sack of provisions. It felt like

he was dipping his feet in muddy water, not knowing how deep he

would sink or what he would find. Some deeper part of him sought a

meaningful reward from the large unknown. The fisherman’s son and

the unknown girl waited outside. She glanced every now and then,

hopefully, to the horizon, towards where she remembered home to be.

He would look at her, briefly, before casting his eyes back to the ground,for the dream of the previous night had not left him. He found her

mysterious, and that very unknowing would instil both fear and

fascination for he felt he was still falling off that lonely mountaintop. He

felt a desire to be close to her while his spirit would shudder at the idea,

and she, oblivious, would look at him every so often with an end in

mind, of which he was the means.

The hunter appeared, holding his stained shield and a large hollow

deerskin which he gave to the fisherman’s son. He went back inside to

fetch his spear, and also emerged with an axe. The axe was old and

used, the splintered wood showing between the unravelled cords that

had been wound around the handle and axe-head. The head was a

dark stone, white at the edge where it had been chipped into a

damaging item, although now a little blunt from all the cycles it had

seen. The hunter tucked the axe in a cord around his waist, took one

long breath, and looked at the jungle ahead. He motioned to the

fisherman’s son, ‘Let’s go’, and the younger man, with his deerskin bag,

proceeded to lead them as best he could, and hopefully on the way find

an element of what he was after.

. . .

They approached the jungle that bordered the settlement. The girl



slowed down the closer it was. She could feel herself back in the same

place, in the dark of night, her legs covered in mud, her eyes wide open

and darting, as if to themselves scream. She watched the younger man

walk through the veil she feared to cross. Behind her, walking on, was

the hunter, whose battle scars and shield seemed to reflect the

protection she already felt from his presence. Things were not as

before. This time, her fear weighed evenly against the hope of

providence. Facing the murky future, she glimpsed a path and was

spurred along it. So, bravely, she stepped through the threshold that

once challenged her, passing from the clearing of the settlement into

the jungle of her dark dreams.

Beyond the calm of the settlement clearing, the world immediately

adopted a different nature. Bird calls bounced back and forth through

the trees, and a rustle of activity permeated the lower shrubs. The mudwas cold around their feet, but the air was warm and damp on their

shoulders. The sky only revealed itself to them in glimpses through the

dense leaves. Each beam of light seemed to intrude on the air into

which it travelled and the ground on which it fell. The fisherman’s son

was wary in such a dense jungle; anything could hide that would

violently rip their lives from them. Emotions and thoughts fell silent, as

they stepped into the territory of the world’s wild animals.

The hunter clutched his weapon tightly, senses alert to the sounds.

While the mass of noise was chaotic, there was a pattern, an elusive

melody that the sounds of the jungle followed. A bird’s call would be

answered by another, a large motion would create smaller motions,

mostly unseen. Each interaction meant a different thing. It was a

complex throng of noises he had only come to understand from cycles

of hunting, but he could read it, and he read of no danger. Of course,

the things that live by tooth and claw can play a safe sound, too.

They waded through the thick air, disrupting it from stillness and through

the noise and the scents as foliage brushed constantly against them.

The unknown girl thought to herself that the safe neatness of the

settlement had been so easy to perceive and understand. In its

controlled environment there was an easiness and comfort where itcould have been simpler to remain. Even as she thought these things,



she did not yearn to be there at all; across the danger and away from

neat simplicity was home.

The fisherman’s son led the way towards the river, gauging his position,

weaving around landmarks. Eventually he smelt something faint on the

air, a small freshness from a moving source. He smiled to himself, and

turned to them. The girl was looking down, watching her footing, when

the younger man in front stopped. When her regard met his, she saw asmile. What she didn’t expect was that she found herself smiling back.

The fisherman’s son was lost in that small moment, until the figure of

the hunter came into focus behind the girl. He was also looking at him,

expressionless. Startled somewhat, he turned around and proceeded

towards where he knew small fast waves were crashing perpetually

against a path of stones that crossed the river.

. . .

Her small smile radiated within him. He was proud to have been the

cause of such a beautiful thing, and he was newly refreshed. He

couldn’t help marvel that what he prized as beauty could be found, not

in the world, nor in an event, but within a fellow person. He had only

begun to revel in her company when he spied something among the

ferns ahead, lying in a patch of mud. It was a small dark shape, splayedlimbs, what may have been wings. It could have been anything, but it

put a fear into his bliss that poisoned it dead; those feathers and dead

eyes, an invisible animal of tooth and claw, watching him from the

jungle shadows. He averted his eyes, for he could not risk introducing

that silent horror to his reality. Those eyes could not find him if he did

not see them. As he continued walking past it, he shuddered, his spirit

banging at the walls of his body in panic. They walked onwards, further away, leaving that muddy secret far behind. When they walked out onto

a sparser jungle, with the sound of a distant river floating to them on the

air, he could feel no relief.

The greenery around changed became lighter in form and colour and

the sky revealed itself to them slowly; small light-filled clouds that shone

yellow on their edges. The mud gave way to yellowish green grass, only

ankle high, and the jungle’s melody turned into the easier song of a



forest. The trees fell away when they reached the riverbank. The

fisherman’s son knelt by the river, the mother he had been away from

for so long. She flowed fast and deep, but the rounded boulders that

broke the river’s flow would make it safe to cross. On the further bank,

an empty field awaited, flanked by rocky outcrops and large trees.

The hunter looked at the young man, ‘Thank you, River’s Eye…’, he

unwound the cord that held the axe and gave him both items, ‘I hopeyou are safe in returning’. The fisherman’s son returned the deerskin of

provisions he had carried, then the hunter, with a small nod, turned

away. With determination, he looked to the empty field and walked

towards the stone bridge. The girl only looked back briefly at the

fisherman’s son, who was still holding the axe as it had been given.

He watched her jump onto the first stone, nimble and capable. As she

stepped from stone to stone, further and further away, he began to

admire her motions, and was reminded of the danger of doing so. That

deep feeling was a siren’s song that would lure him over the edge; an

ungraspable notion that was the territory of unsettling things. While the

other two were concentrating on their footing, aware that one careless

motion could be death, he was lost inside his mind, standing before the

rocks of another kind of bridge. Something about her, unspoken and

unperformed, reminded him of the happiness he had only known in that

place called home. Once again he was to make a choice, absolute and

significant. He could return to his own world where he, alone, moulded

the cycles ahead into the happiness he sought... Or he could proceed to

a shared reality, where, together, he thought he could exist within his

happiness, beside her. The choice seemed to make itself. Despite the

threat of pain, the fear of loss, and the risk of torture, at that point he

accepted those things, for he realised that while his demon and his love

were interwoven, he would rather have both than neither. Echoing the

determination just seen in one other, he dropped his fear as a

vanquished foe, clutched the axe in his fist, and hopped onto the first

stone.

The hunter had just reached the far riverbank and, as he looked back to

the girl’s progress, found an unexpected figure crossing the river to jointhem.



. .

The new field sloped and sank in wide waves, the shadows of the swift

clouds seemed to float on them. It was a world unknown to them, and it

cultivated uncertainty in their minds. As their feet trampled the grass

and broke its blades, no animal was roused. There were no herds in

that rich field. There was life, but its activity was reserved and watchful.

To the hunter, the melody of that place was nothing but eerie; subject torhythms that were unfamiliar and bizarre. There was an unnerving

silence between the small noises, where a single word uttered might be

a beam of sunlight pervading the dark of a jungle. As they walked on,

the sun began to cast smaller shadows under their feet, reminding them

that it would eventually begin its fall. They would need to find higher

ground, to find their next objective; what the fisherman’s son knew as a

giant rock that was almost a mountain. They continued away from theriver, towards a small wood at the base of a hill. From the top of it, the

direction of the mountain rock might be found.

Through the woods, the ground became softer than soil. Layer upon

layer of leaves, fallen but never foraged, were left to rot under the trees

to nourish them. Their feet sank through its crisp surface to the rotting

foliage underneath. In their immediate space all was quiet but for the

crunch of their footsteps. Sometimes, from the trees, an unfamiliar

animal call would sound to them. They walked through the sludge and

when they reached the foot of the hill they found a grassy slope. The

fisherman’s son began to climb to the vantage point.

Gauging the slope, its variations, placing each hand and foot in

succession, the unknown girl followed his ascent. She climbed until she

was well above the ground, where the grass on the slope receded intothe rocks that formed the core of the hill. Where it rounded over, she

hoisted herself up and found the younger man looking on the newly

revealed landscape.

The land was covered in small hills and sloping fields, interspersed by

cliffs and outcrops of white rock. Any flat portion of land was claimed by

trees that grew tall into the sky. She looked in the direction of home, and

her attention was forced towards something that stood massive and still



against the moving sky. Its black form seemed to intrude upon those

hills and cliffs of white stone, like a tooth embedded in flesh. It was their

next objective, and it was not as far as she’d thought it would be. The

three of them now, with their definite and more desperate purpose, were

able to cross the expanses more briskly than her wandering troupe had,

no more than a handful of suns ago.

Without realising, her eyes began to follow their old journey from home,across the first river, to the rock, through the land. She turned around

slowly, tracing the paths as their journey had continued, and when her

eyes met the river, she also saw the hill, its dead slopes waiting for her

to return and meet the fate she had escaped. In that moment, all the

thoughts and regrets she had of home were wrenched from her, further

than her mind could reach, and replaced with grief. She only saw the

hill, far away, dark, and imbued with a dreadful memory. She collapsedon all fours, fists clenched and tears pouring out of her, uncontrollably,

onto the rocky ground. The silence that pervaded that place between

rivers dug into her as she longed to hear something familiar. The

fisherman’s son turned to see the young girl caught in a terrible grief.

He was reminded of his own thrashings of agony from all too recent a

time. As they stood on that small hilltop, alone, it became apparent to

him that he was not the only one with a deep shadow. ‘What’s goingon?’ the hunter shouted from the bottom of the hill, ‘We can’t wait

longer; the sky is darkening’. Rivers Eye looked up; where yellow edged

clouds had swiftly drifted past, now they grew still and heavy and the

sun could no longer illuminate them. They would have to hurry. The

girl’s tears had dried, yet the image of grief still struck her features. The

young man knelt down, touched her chin, and gently turned her regard

away from the hill, towards her home. That is where they would takeher. He looked into her eyes and nodded, his eyes pleading necessity

and action. Finding some hope, with newfound conviction she rose to

her feet.

They walked up and down slopes, through untrodden woods, under an

increasingly ominous sky. The whole time, they crossed no animals,

saw no motion. The sway of the trees in the storm-tinged wind was the

only sign that the earth hadn’t stopped. Their pace was hurried and their



legs were hurting but they did not slow. They each could feel the twisted

energy of that place, as though there was a foreboding entity that

imbued all the elements, and they were pressed to leave its territory. So

they did not slow.

They were much closer to the massive rock. Its dark grey colour was

broken by vegetation that somehow had found sustenance in its

elevated vertices. Here and there, its surface was pocked by darkcrevasses and caves. These were visible, but they were not close

enough when the first drops splashed against their moving bodies.

Falling from the single cloud that now enveloped the entire sky, the rain

compelled the three to immediately seek shelter. The ground became

slippery as they clambered up a grassy slope. When they reached the

top, they found, almost a gift, a small rock hill far at the bottom of the

field and, in its side, a cave. As the cloud released more water upon theearth, the rhythmic fall of rain became increasingly intense. Quickly they

travelled down the slope, their garments already soaking and their

vision obscured by the torrent, half sliding from the ground turning to

mud. At the mouth of the cave the ground was rough to their footing

where the hill had come apart and its pieces littered the ground.

Negotiating the spaces between the rock fragments, they stumbled into

the hollow in the hill.

The rain’s rhythm echoed from the walls of the cave. Light struggled to

pierce the storm cloud, and what small amount that could, failed to

reach them through the veil of rain. They sat in darkness, breathing

heavily, as they looked out to the only light. After the hunter had caught

his breath, his thoughts returned to him, ‘We should start a fire’. The

other agreed, ‘How?’ He unwound the cord that bound the deerskin

bag, and from it he produced various provisions; dry grass, dead

branches, three large pieces of wood, some fruit, some flat stones, and

a smaller leather bag that he replaced into the deerskin. ‘We pile it up,

the branches and the dry grass, like this, and we will start the fire from

these,’ he showed the two flat stones to the fisherman’s son. ‘You draw

the fire out... with force and patience’.

Soon after, a small but warm fire had caught the branches and begun toset the first large piece of wood alight. They sat around it, protected



from the outside storm and the cold. The walls of the cave were

revealed in the firelight; rounded surfaces that flickered shadows on

themselves, forming a secure embrace around the visitors. This place

would be safe until the storm dissipated, but that would leave them

travelling in the danger of night. There was not much they could do at

that point, but sit around the fire and profit from its warmth. While the

hunter tended to the fire, the fisherman’s son took the axe from his

waist and set it on the ground. With a small round stone, he began to

chip at the blunted blade of the axe. As he did so, the edge did not

whiten with a fresh edge, as he had hoped, but slowly turned brown.

Upon doubling his efforts, a loud snap resounded, as the rock he had

held broke into two. Embarrassed, he turned around to face his

company, to find an increasingly amused expression on the hunter’s

face. He threw the treacherous pieces out into the rain, as the hunter

chuckled, then laughed. When a new, more jagged rock bounced to his

feet, the hunter was still smiling.

The unknown girl was startled at their interaction. It felt like so long

since she had heard laughter, or been in its presence. The sound was

even unfamiliar at first, but, somehow, it brought her into that moment

and she couldn’t help but smile. Inside that cave, away from everything,

it almost seemed like a different world, one where she was removedfrom pain. As the two men exchanged words, every now and then a

laugh would bounce of the caves walls, and, each time, she felt more

removed from the ghosts that haunted her.

When the large piece of wood had caught fire, the hunter took the

smaller pouch from the deerskin. He opened it slightly, and from it,

poured a liquid onto the flames. There was a brief stench, but once

caught in the fire the odours were suffocated. From the pouch, he

tipped into his hand an organic item, more bone than flesh, which he

lobbed to the younger man. Additionally from the pouch he produced a

piece of jaw, and some more offal. The girl looked slightly repulsed but

they were all famished. The fisherman’s son held his item of food over

the fire. The hunter impaled the piece of offal onto a branch, and held it

over the fire. The girl did the same, carefully, and as the food cooked,

the smell of it filled the cave,



‘Have you ever done something like this, River’s Eye?’

It took the fisherman’s son a few moments to understand what the

hunter meant, ‘Well, I remember, as a child, I used to find such strange

things, important things. As I got older I could see less of them. I think,

perhaps, that this is one of those things, somehow returned to me’, in

speaking of childhood, he was reminded of his dear parents from whom

he was separated.

‘So you are the fisherman’s son. I am curious, what is it that brought

you here?’

He could not help glance at the girl when asked this question, but

avoided answering in complete truth.

‘Since I lost my parents, I have been searching for what to do... I wantto find the best way to live, and some spirit has pointed me, willing or

not, to you. But I, too, must ask, why do you take her home?’

The hunter looked at her, as she watched them speak, and looked then

to the rain outside. After some time he answered,

‘There are things we simply have to do, if we are able to do them...

There is a harm that is so heavy on us both, that I may not find good inthe world if this harm is not undone, somehow’.

A piece of branch broke and the firewood fell through, coughing up ash.

The younger man retreated his food and blew the white dust off of it.

There was still some of the white and black powder on its half bone

surface. He began gnawing at the piece of horse, trying to retrieve from

its structure what nourishment he could. The girl leaned forward, and

said something to him, slowly, which he didn’t understand but in her eyes were the gleam of a smile. The younger man replied, ‘what?’ she

repeated herself, louder, and began to laugh. She eased back with a

shine in her eyes, like water to the parched. So too did he snicker, more

confused than offended, when her taunting was joined by the hunter.

‘How do you know she’s not laughing at both our expenses?’, the young

man retorted, throwing a scrap of bone at him. The hunter almost

dropped his offal branch, and, in recovering his hold, ascertained that it



was ready to eat. The girl checked her own scrap. It was dark where it

hadn’t been, but some parts still looked raw. Regardless, she was very

hungry, nor did she want to food to burn, so she proceeded to brave its

taste... As her teeth dug into the wet flesh, the mouthful made itself

known, with conviction, to her tongue. A loud cry of disgust drew their

attention, as she recoiled from the taste. She was assailed by hysterical

laughs, and she stared disappointedly at that thing impaled on a

branch. The hunter took it off her, replacing it with his properly cooked

item. An air of levity had somehow kindled in their bodies, happiness

from just sitting in the cave, enclosed from the world by a blanket of

rain.

. .

.

Though they might not have known it, inside that moment there was

some element of what each of them sought. Among each other, and

barring every chaotic element of the world, their deeper selves could

not help but emerge; it was an earthly reflection of home.

As the shelter from the world separated them from the wild winds, they

were easily able to mould their own joy, away from fear, but away from

reality, so too does such a weak construction fall. There is one thing that would last, however; Actions, footsteps sounding in the melody of

the jungle. We identify the elements from the senses, and act and react

to influence the jungle’s song. We are the melody sung by the sky.

. . .

CHAPTER 5: DEATH’S QUESTION

The laughter had run thin and the fruit had been eaten. The fire wasdying and they waited for the rain to stop. The unknown girl lay sleeping

on the soil and the hunter leaned against the back of the cave,

humming long and low notes, a song to the rain. The fisherman’s son

sat near the wall of falling water, looking through it, as he sharpened the

axe with quick successive motions. He looked at the storm and its grey

clouds, absorbed in its many facets. There was a beauty in its nature

that grasped him. What had been many small clouds before, had grown



into a storm, and the gentle winds that drew them together, now made

way for the stormy gales. He watched the raindrops fall from height in

the sky, to each briefly bend leaves and move the soil, soaking into the

ground to one day re-emerge. There were so many elements to a storm

that had somehow culminated to catch them on that day. Life’s events

were unpredictable and innumerable. How many things were to have

happened so that he would be sitting in that cave, with those two

people, watching a storm whose beauty he could find peacefully asleep

on the soil behind him. Events impact on each other in such a complex

way, and yet, he could not deny there was order. He was not sure what

controlled his present state, so he looked at the storm’s clouds and

silently asked if they had meant to form.

The rain had lessened such that he could discern the silhouette of the

giant rock.

Through the hum of the rain, he thought he heard a different sound, but

when he listened again, nothing new reached his ears.

. . .

The hunter felt a duty towards the girl that was stronger than any

purpose he had ever known. As long as he was in service of

replenishing her peace, he did not feel sorrow. Once the rain stopped,

they would continue toward the large rock, and from there find the

second river. The home she sought would then be waiting for her, and

she would be happy. But was he to simply return after so dedicating

himself? Though he was rectifying an injustice, bringing peace, he had

begun to see her as the means to find his own peace, his own personal

shelter from the chaos; a tempting quiescence.

She stirred her sleep, and he thought to lie down as well. He slid his

hand behind him when his fingers were met by something unfamiliar.

They felt like bones, small as fingers. It was hidden between two of therocks that lined the wall. Moving to allow the little light emanating from

outside, he peered into the dark. They were small wing bones tied

together in a row. His eyes widened and his voice failed. He could

simply stare at it; he had seen this thing before. He reached with

trembling hands to what had lain in the dark this entire time.

He was taken back to the dream of the boy, that gaze he had felt over

such a distance, ‘this is for you’. The instrument now answered his



previous question. His eyes looked to the haze outside, but his mind

saw the fog on hill; he was being indicated the next step of his journey.

After returning the girl, he was to return to this place.

In that moment he was changed from a man who was creating his own

justice out of the world’s order, into something that was a part of the

world and that order. He thought of the wisdom that had him follow the

fog that now allowed him to see the importance of the wing-bone flute.

Now it was directing his return to this place, away from his peace, away

from her. Holding the instrument in his hand, his shock and fear gave

way to anger. What is such a destiny even for, that we can’t understand

it? It was him, not some wisdom deep within, that was forging justice

out of a cruel world. His own actions, born from his hands, were what

created the fire in the cave and brought the brief refuge they’d found

around it.

. . .

The fisherman’s son was sharpening the blade, when, between strokes,

he heard the sound again. Unmistakable, it was a howl coming from the

far rock. He appreciated it, for it was the first animal noise he had heard

since they’d crossed the river.

. . .

The hunter recognised that part of him knew what he must do. It was as

though he were a simpler animal, being taken to some destination by

trails of food and guiding feelings. Was he even in control of his own

body? He looked at his hands holding the bone flute, and couldn’t

fathom that he wasn’t. When he flexed his fingers, they did not disobey,

but only his senses could give him this knowledge. The world he

perceived was like the melody sung by a jungle. Were something totruly exist beyond his senses, then who was to say his actions, over

which he thought to have control, had not been orchestrated from far

beyond. He wondered what it was that decided these things, that

controlled his present and future. In the face of it, he did not want to

follow this destiny, for his heart made him want to remain with her. He

was torn, was he to be the instrument of his inner wisdom, a flute for the

wind to play? Or was he to reject what signs he saw, and grasp at the



world with his own hands?

. .

.

The fisherman’s son heard the howl again, but on hearing it, his heart

sank, and a wishful denial filled his head. It was much closer, and no

longer sounded like any animal.

The hunter was on the verge of snapping the flute to pieces, when a

panicked figure approached him. He had barely a chance to speak

when a freakish howl pierced the wall of rain and entered the cave. The

young girl woke up with a start, fear widening her eyes; it was

happening again. It had found her and was going to kill her, just as it

had her loved ones. She was pulled to her feet by the hunter’s rough

hands. He yelled something to them both as he picked up his shield and

spear. As the younger man began to run, she, too, was pushed into

motion. They passed through the watery wall of the cave, out into the

slopes that were now muddy and filled with the rhythm of raindrops.

There were shadows moving around them.

Far Shade started toward the rock when River’s Eye stopped him, ‘No!

That’s where it’s coming from!’ The hunter’s eyes darted around but

only found a wall of white mist. He searched the surroundings from

memory, to know where next to go. The water ran in rivulets over their

still feet. The shadows in the rain moved everywhere around them.

Like talons and wings swooping down to an open field, fear caught each

of them by the heart, tormented by the sky and the earth, the shadows

and the light. When the howl resounded it would be too close to escape,

and only the girl knew what kind of death would find them then; horrid

teeth and dark desires. In a plea, out of necessity, she screamed. It was

an anguished prayer to life, love, and peace itself. In that instant, fear stalled and let loose its talons. They knew their goal, for themselves and

to the world, and, though death, hate and violence pursued them, they

knew they could not succumb. The fear left them and they ran. The

rivulets broke under their frantic paces. They ran through woods, away

from the giant rock. The distorted human sound echoed off the hills,

coming from the cave entrance where they had just stood.

Through slippery mud and sharp underbrush, they pressed on, pushing



their limbs harder, fighting through pains, scratches and exhaustion,

only ever moving forward. The unknown girl’s scream was heard again,

but from another body and from ahead of them. Like an echo with a

purpose, it came closer. Far Shade turned abruptly, but River’s Eye

stumbled, his knee catching a dead stump. The girl ran to him and

pulled at his arms desperately. When he had recovered, Far Shade was

no longer there. They followed his last course as damp footsteps were

heard; something travelling aggressively towards them. They doubled

their frenetic effort, their desire to escape matched by the wish to find

Far Shade.

Suddenly, the ground became flat and the trees less dense. The

torrential rain gave way, only for a blink, to a clearer day, whereupon

they saw a field and a man in the distance, running into where the trees

began again. Just as abruptly, the rain resumed its torrent. A third howl

found them, coming to catch them on their side. They ran into the field,

navigating it from the glimpse they had been granted, hazy and

segmented like an old memory. Their feet sank into muddy floor of the

field, and though they tried to press on, they sank through the grass and

the mud until there was no motion left to take.

They were trapped. The girl was going to meet the fate she so dreaded.

The fisherman’s son dropped the axe, completely vanquished by

despair. In sharing his most intimate pain with another, this most special

other, he let himself go and began to fall back into the muddy field. As

his eyes met hers, their regards locked and she fell with him. The rain

fell on their faces, on their bodies, and they looked at each other,

searching for comfort in the face of death, but with none to be found for

the fear of such pain. The rain fell, but no footsteps were heard. After

long, the mud let their trapped legs go, and death had not come. Only

when the first patches of blue began to show in the sky, did they lookaway. The young man lifted his head carefully and looked around. The

field, that old memory, came to life, now clear, refreshed and familiar.

He saw the place where the hunter had entered the woods. They would

have to find him. They made their way out of the mud, the fisherman’s

son tied the axe to his waist, and they walked towards what they could

now see was a deep forest. They had only reached the middle of the

clearing when the girl stopped walking. She froze and was fixed on



something behind them.

It stood on the edge of the clearing near where they had just lain. It was

a low set animal, black, the size of a boar, its back covered in bristles

made of muddy leaves. Their hearts pounded as they stood in complete

stillness. It moved to them slowly, growing taller, standing upright, the

size of a man. They glanced at each other, and turned to run. It let out a

voice that was hoarse and gargled and ran at them. They started their

tired bodies again, finding no solace from these creatures so ravenous.

Where they ran, the grass was already trampled everywhere, and

where there was no grass, were messy footprints in all directions, and

what looked like blood. Their pursuer fell behind, but while their bodies

screamed in protest, they had to keep running. They ran through the

deep forest, into where the trees were large and old, until the

surrounding footprints thinned, and the grass was undisturbed. They ran

past the heart of the forest, until the trees were less dense, and a new

solitary trail could be found weaving its way through the grass and the

trees, which they followed.

After long, they reached a small lake in the midst of the forest, where

yellow sunlight welcomed their tired and drenched bodies. The lake’s

surface was clear and still; it was no longer raining. The fisherman’s son

collapsed next to the lake’s waters. The young girl was short of breath,

but her senses remained alert. Any fear she had previously felt was

drowned out by the blood pulsing rapidly in her body. The last raindrops

dripped off the leaves of the trees, and the panic that had taken them so

violently began to fade. They were not yet clear of danger, but for the

moment, they were too tired to carry on.

There was a rustle of leaves, and they both jumped at the sound.

Leaves kissed the lake’s surface, as Far Shade’s voice carried to them,

‘You made it!’. . .

There are forces all around us, the most important of which are those

invisible. They are at one time both love and chaos, and control all

smaller forces. A human spirit can sometimes call these forces to their

purpose, much like one moulds justice from chaos.

. . .

The fisherman’s son sat beside the lake, staring at its surface. The girl



cupped a handful of water, creating ripples on the surface, warping the

reflection of the trees. He looked at the blade he had sharpened;

useless. For all his thoughts of defeating fear, they had only fled and he

had proven nothing. He watched the ripples on the lake recede and the

image cast on it was clear again. They hadn’t fled from pain, but from

death. In fact, they had endured pain to escape death.

. . .

The girl sat beside the lake, looking at the water which, from her

perspective, was crystal clear. They had survived. They had dodged

death’s closing fingers and were free again. She breathed more easily

and her heartbeat had slowed, but the other did not calm so quickly. He

stared at the water, fists clenched tight, breathing deep and sharply.

She was made to remember how he had turned her face away from

tears, and now he seemed to be caught in his own deep shadow. Under

the giant trees, to the sound of the drops of the old rain, she moved

closer to the fisherman’s son.

She touched his chin and turned his head. He immediately seemed

calmer. With the same gift as her grandfather’s vision and her mother’s

craftsmanship, she spoke without thinking, ‘This is what we call life.

Earth, days and nights’, she put her hand on her heart, then moved her

hand to the lake. She swirled slowly, creating waves. She reached out

to the old axe, as the ripples began to fade, ‘When you leave...’ she

pulled the blade to her neck, ‘...it is like this’ she tilted her head,

indicating the surface of the lake. It was still and peaceful.

The hunter watched the two from a distance, his senses alert. So that

was what had stalked her people. That was what he was supposed to

return to face. Watching the girl swirl the water, he was reminded of that

astral hand that was making ripples in his own life. His old questionsrevisited him. In the face of such commanding forces, was his life even

is? He saw in his mind her hand being removed from the water as it

then stilled; should his greater self, his inner wisdom leave him, would

he even exist? Perhaps his body truly was just a melody reflecting his

inner wisdom. It was not some strange power moving his limbs,

directing his course, it was himself.



The fisherman’s son put his hand over the water, and tapped it. The

small waves were alive, but only briefly. Death is a return to peace. It is

a form of justice on the body, the cost of being alive. It was a fearsome

thing, and he couldn’t know why. He tapped the surface again, and the

small shapes worked against time to fulfil their true course.

. . .

The lake water dripped off her fingers and onto the soil. She watched

the younger man create ripples on the lake and she wanted for its

surface to calm. She still yearned for peace. She still sought shelter

from the chaos.

Her sky told her to yearn for something more. She looked at the two

who helped her, and realized that it was only by that greater direction

and motivation that they were there. Events had conspired, like a storm

born of clouds, each of them following the wind that was born from the

single force that controls the sky.

There was no further understanding, and none of those notions brought

her solace. All she could do was to travel to where she believed she

would find love and joy, that place she called home, a simplified

reflection of her sky’s unfathomable desire. So, spurred on by emotions

and dreams translated through the capacities of their bodies, they left

the lake, the cave and all that remained behind, and walked towards the

place at the end of their dream.

CHAPTER 6: CHASING A MIND’S WHISPER

By the time they got out of the forest, the sky was orange as the sun

dipped closer to the shadows. They walked out onto a field of long

grass, where a large herd grazed in the distance. The giant rock wasstill in view, heavy against the light filled horizon. Tired steps pressed

into damp grass as they walked in an unknown direction, pushed ahead

by the weight of the dark rock that cast the memory of its howling

screams to them.

Much further ahead, the grass was interrupted by a sudden growth of

shrubs and trees that marked the edge of the plains, curving like a

snake; it was the second river. With their goal now in sight, theyquickened. Birds settled on trees, calling out and, from the grassy



ground, small animals scurried around, retreating to their homes. The

day was coming to an end. When they approached the shrubs, they

could hear the river sweeping loud and fast. They pushed through the

bushes, until, among vines and trees, the opposing bank taunted them

from across the dangerous flow. The fisherman’s son watched its

waters fall over each other wildly and violently; this was not the same

river he knew. There was no way of crossing, but, as the girl had shown,

further downstream would be a bridge.

They walked down its flow eagerly, for finally their efforts had begun to

bear fruit. The calls of the beasts of the field followed them for a while,

then fell far behind. The river dug deeper into the ground, creating a

steep and shadowy crevasse that they followed at a careful distance.

Even out of sight, the fisherman’s son could hear the waves crashing

against the walls of the cliffs, thrashing around like a wounded animal.

Eventually they found that point where the soil and rock had stayed

strong between the separated worlds. The ground had held with the

interweaving of tree roots which poked through the structure where it

dangled over emptiness. The top was a narrow and twisting form. As

they stood before the bridge, the sun shone red through the spaces in

the trees. The girl looked to the other side, so close, and hope took her;

she would soon be home. She walked over its narrow surface, each

step toward fulfilment, barely able to stop herself from running ahead.

The other two looked at each other briefly; this was it. The fisherman’s

son looked to the falling sun, and walked toward its light. The hunter

watched as the young man’s outline disappeared into the radiant

surroundings. He looked back on the land behind him, towards the

mountainous rock that was now bathed in a dark red. He stepped onto

the bridge and the last of them left the land of silence that slept betweentwo rivers.

. . .

The remains of the day drifted into night and the air cooled. Large walls

of white stone had begun following their path. The unknown girl looked

on these cliffs with hope. They walked upwards through the underbrush

which was dark blue in the night. The moon behind them cast faint



shadows before their selves, long and blurred, onto the shrubs of the

slope. Suddenly the shadows dipped forward, as the slope fell away as

open air greeted them to a great blue vista.

Bare cliffs fell from the edge of a valley onto the floor of a gigantic rocky

riverbed. Far above them, they could see the forest at the top of the

cliffs, swaying its dark forms in the higher winds. The rocky valley was

completely moonlit, as were the smaller cliffs contained within. At thefarthest end, water fell from the heights, a thin gleam, into a small pool.

It was only visible from the distant ripples in its surface; white circular

forms in the moonlight. The unknown girl cried out across the expanse

with disbelief and excitement. Running towards the valley floor, she left

the other two who struggled to maintain pace. She ran down to the

rocky ground, shouting and yelling through her uncontrollable smile.

From behind a drop in the valley floor, voices shouted back, soundinginto the big empty air. The cliffs surrounding them repeated every voice

and cast each higher to the sky.

She recognized their voices and she recognized their words. As she ran

towards the elevation, figures clambered up from behind it. They peered

to the three, whose fast footsteps had filled the quiet of the night. The

unknown girl slowed down, caught by emotion, and called out, ‘It’s me,Pale Sky!’ The strangers gasped as their curiosity was met by elation,

and they called to others, spreading the news. Their smiles glinted in

the moonlight as they crowded to meet their once lost sister. Tearfully,

she was met by warm hugs, thankful voices and faces she thought

would never see again, from another lifetime. They spoke to her in

familiar phrases, familiar expressions, touching her clothes, touching

her hair, holding her arms. The flock of chatter and joy took her lovinglyby the heart and hand, and they all disappeared down the elevation,

leaving only the hunter, fisherman’s son, and one other man. He wore a

furred fabric on his back, and his torso was decorated with a peculiar

structure of bone. He had a thick and long beard, and wore a slight

smile under an old visage. The man turned around and gestured for

them to follow. He walked to the edge of the elevation and stepped

down to the other side.. . .



Now alone, they walked even slower, soaking in each unusual and

beautiful element. The journey was to conclude, they had reached their

destination. They climbed up the granite of the elevation and discovered

what they hadn’t been able to see from the slope. They were

overlooking a plateau, defined at one end by a massive drop, and at the

other end, by small rocky walls. On this wide platform of blue stone, a

settlement was awakening from fresh sleep and a crowd of activity had

surrounded the young girl. The two men stepped down the rocks and

walked to the settlement. The shelters were not just made of leather, but

gigantic bones, from an animal they could not fathom in their minds.

Amongst and beyond the shelters, giant statues were lit by the moon,

each gloriously reminiscent of what animal they captured. A bear gazed

permanently at the stars, in the middle of the settlement, and a fox

bounded at its edges. There was a horse and its calf, and an eagle

preparing to fly over the plateau’s edge.

From where they now stood, they could see more streams of water

falling down the cliffs. Far below, a lush green garden grew where the

water met the earth and, as the streams converged, the garden flowed

into a forest, its waves of greenery crashing and clambering over the

cliff walls far below. The world was unfolding to them, and each time it

seemed to unfold greater. Such a place had existed that they had never

known, so it was hard not to wonder what more secrets the world kept

so quietly. In the sky, the stars held their own secret, though they sang it

as loud as they could, but the three were learning to listen.

. . .

“We seek beauty in things, for they are a mirror for our ability to love.”

The moon, appearing much larger near the horizon, shines through me.

It is slowly falling away from sight. I stand up and step towards the

opening, and the stars above greet me. I am beginning to understand,

but, just like the clarity of the moon will soon fade, I am afraid I will lose

the meanings of those connections. I put my hand against the wall and

watch as the moon slowly falls, taking with it my state of mind, towards



oblivion. The tale continues though, certain as the wind that sways the

trees in the field and rustles the grass. Soon they would meet, the sway

and the fall, and I can do nothing but watch them both, from a want of

answers that has been stirred up in me.

. . .

Despite night time, there was too much hope scintillating in the air for

rest. It filled tired lungs and illuminated dull eyes. People were drawn

from their shelters by the jubilant commotion that was herald to an

uplifting sight. Emotions channelled from the highest winds to imbue

into silent hands claps of joy and drumming on stretched leather, each

loud beat chasing the sleep of night further from their bodies. The girl

slowed at the threshold of the settlement, trying to realize she was

home. Familiar faces, glowing with smiles, spoke to her, laughs of pure

joy surrounded her, and she smiled at all the old things she had not

seen or heard in so long. As she went with her people further into the

settlement, the two followed some distance behind. Around them were

children, intrigued and cheeky youths, and some curious adults, who

talked to them and to each other. Neither of the men could reply but

with smiles that reflected the most festive spirit that was being instilled

in them. Perhaps it was the moon that night, or the new sensations, that

caused them to feel that way. Perhaps it was the intense happiness felt

by all there that caused the sky itself to sway to the drums.

The space around was vibrant with energy, noise and motion. The

fisherman’s son was exhilarated; he was looking forward to where they

were being taken, for it would signify all they had worked for. The hunter

saw their faces that were so different to theirs, but whose smiles were

joyous and genuine. As he looked around, his eyes met those of awoman whose unique features caught his attention, and her attention

seemed caught by him. She was beautiful. Smiling even more, the

hunter made himself to walk just a little bit taller. The drums’ sounds, of

which there were two, followed the crowd. The girl had forgotten the

search for home, for the smile that she was now made to shine had cast

out of sight any deeper notion. That happiness was stronger from the

multitudes of smiles around her. It seemed that this was the place they



had sought; that feeling of happiness with no thought, of joy with no

pain. Each small event was uncontrollable, each action unpredictable,

and they basked in the freedom of abandon.

The commotion took them through the settlement to an empty expanse

on the other side. A bull stood at its edge, guarding the precipice of the

massive cliff. Its stone hooves were covered in fresh flowers. Along with

the statue, three windbreakers marked the clearing, and near each was

a pile of wood inside a circle of stones. One by one each fire was

started and people began to sit in a wide circle around them. The two

drummers played a combined rhythm that lifted their spirits and cast

them higher into the air. Some of the people began to move to the

rhythm, in the mixed light of the fire and the moon. They were no learnt

or preconceived ritual dances. It was as though they were releasing the

motions from inside of them, like fire from stones, with no fuel but the

drumbeat and their deep expression.

The three were seated, watching the dances, though the girl sat with

her friends and family. The dancers’ shadows moved in unison with their

source bodies, as three bags were brought out. Each was presented to

the bearded man who had bid the two men welcome. The image of the

bull was visible over his shoulder. He reached behind to an animal skull

and gathered a handful of powder that he cast onto the contents of the

bag. He poured a little onto the ground, brown water, and returned it to

the carrier. With the second one, he met the powder with the liquid, then

drank some of it and passed it to the woman next to him. The carrier

gave the first cask to the girl, ‘Here, sister Pale Sky, to celebrate the gift

of your return’. The girl put its opening to her lips and slowly lifted,

pouring a small mouthful of the drink before passing it next to her. The

third cask was taken to the unexpecting hunter. He peered into thecask, slightly wary of the contents. Seeing as the girl had drank some

and that the two casks were now being passed from person to person,

he took one last look at the cloudy liquid before drinking it. The drink slid

easily to his stomach, such that he had several gulps of it, and it was

only when he passed it to the fisherman’s son that the bitter aftertaste

arrived to him. He tried his best not to grimace, for fear of insulting the

carrier, the chief, or the drink’s deriver, but control over his face was



overpowered by such a taste. He coughed once, before looking to the

boy just as this one had taken a mouthful. The hunter expected some

source of satisfaction from the other’s reaction, but the fisherman’s son

actually seemed to like the taste. So much, in fact, that he lifted the

cask two more times before passing it along.

They sat in each other’s company among all the strangers and couldn’t

help commenting on the peculiarities of this foreign culture. They were

the strangers here. As they talked and the drink passed around, they

found themselves laughing more and their focus became undirected. A

woman walked towards them from the dances and as she drew closer,

both men’s gaze was drawn to her. She sat next to the hunter; it was

that same woman he had noticed before. From so much closer, her

features seemed perfect, her eyes infinitely alluring, and her fragrance

was like a drumbeat to his senses. She said something to him, in a

voice that echoed down his spine, and she stood up, with his hand in

hers. She let go slowly as she walked towards the centre of the fires,

among the dancers. She motioned to him with her hand, and in a

language so basic it was impossible to misinterpret. Without thinking, he

rose to his feet but lost his balance slightly. He quickly recovered, but all

the faces around him were as though one, and the chatter and laughs

accompanied the drumbeat. Confused by this new sensation, he looked

around, and it felt as though the individual stars moved with him. When

his senses cleared, he saw that many of the strangers, as well as his

fisherman friend, were watching his ordeal, amused. Someone took his

hand with a warm and firm touch, and he found himself among the

dancers, with this mysterious beauty in front of him. She held his hands

and swayed to the drumbeat while looking in his eyes, like a child

spying a new river. Even with all the motion around, he could see

nothing but her, and as his own motions began to reflect the drumbeat,it became as though they shared the same pulse.

Left alone, the fisherman’s son looked at the hunter and the woman.

The world seemed to give itself away to him, to yield to his strength.

How had he thought a fisherman’s son could compare? He’d hoped to

grasp at the world with desire and strength, control his future, but all he

had wished for and worked for was nowhere near him now. He looked



beyond the dances. Across the motion, and moving shadows, the

unknown girl sat among her people. He saw her laugh, and, though he

could not hear it, he knew what it sounded like. As she smiled, he was

reminded of the first smile she had given him in that place so far away,

yet not so long ago. He remembered the choice that he’d made at the

first bridge, where, at the risk of pain, he had gone with her. He felt

betrayed; while he had endured so much for her, she was effortlessly

removed from his presence, lost from him in words he did not

understand.

His thoughts were interrupted by a brief shout. He turned to the drink

being passed to him which he stretched to receive. He drank it down

with persistence, trying to somehow quell his fiery emotions. His vision

blurred as he looked through the dances and he could no longer see

her. He passed the bag of drink on to the next person, who received it

with a kind and concerned word. Without looking at them, he nodded. It

was as though neither the light of the moon nor that of the fires could

reach him.

She belonged so much, among these people with whom he had nothing

in common. He remembered the cave where they had found shelter,

that small home, except now he was outside of it, watching the

moments he prized, watching her in the midst of that feeling he wished

he was part of. He was the outside world now; he was the shadow,

howling in the rain. What he had hoped to find at the end of their

journey, he had hoped to find in her, but now that she was part of a

home, there was no place for him. In the face of this unexpected

circumstance, the thought of action whispered at him again, the same

voice that had prompted this adventure. He could no longer look at her

for want to be those around her. He could not look at those around her

for want of belonging.

A brief shout came to him and he was brought back, wrenched from his

innermost turmoil. He reached out to the bag and passed it on to the

next person. They drank from it, but, save for a few drops, only a thick

juice was left.

He stumbled to his feet, and walked around the outside of the circle tillhe reached the fires near where the girl sat. He pushed through the



circle until he was standing in front of her, and her troupe fell silent,

curious, grateful. Now arrived, he wasn’t sure what to do. She looked up

at him with a smile.

“Thank you, so much. You have given me back my home,”

River’s Eye spoke in turn, as he unravelled the puzzle of his emotions.

“Where we are, tonight, it’s not where I want to be…”

Pale Sky got up, touched his hand,

“I don’t know why you did so much, but I’m grateful”

The firelight caught her features like the first time he saw her.

“…this is all I want, I’m at home, here, whenever you are close”

He stepped forward and held her outstretched hand. The touch felt

right, the warmth, the connection, but then she withdrew, apology in her

eyes. The people around immediately became protective, though it was

hidden behind their smiles.

“I see…”

Someone patted him on the back, he turned and Far Shade and his

companion were there. A younger man from the dances followed. He

spoke congratulations to him and the hunter, before bounding up to

Pale Sky, holding both her hands. As she passed by River’s Eye, her

face glowing with excitement, she quickly held his shoulder, as thanks,

as she was taken to the dances, but she did not look at his broken

expression. The hunter, however, did.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, sure, I‘m not used to this, I need some quiet.”

Eventually the drink waned and the stories had all been told. The girl sat

among her friends and family as the excitement from before had calmed

to a grateful enjoyment of each other’s company. The chief had

honoured the two who’d brought her back, but neither had been there.Families had retreated to their beds, and, after long, the dances

receded and the drums fell silent. Some people remained, scattered in

small groups, allowing themselves some more moments of the night. As

the fires died, so too did the glow in the faces around her, and with their

fading smiles, that vivid happiness she’d felt somehow carried away.

She looked around in the quieter night. With silence now creeping into

the air, she finally had a chance to absorb that elusive realization; that



she was where she wanted to be. She saw the statues, the valley and

the shelters. She closed her eyes and breathed in the air, heard the

distant fall of water, the whisper of the wind passing over the plateau.

There was no sensation of truth, no impact of realization. Her joy from

before had been so loud, but now each thought echoed across the

silence she now felt inside. There was something missing, something

she couldn’t quite find. She got up from the soil and stepped away from

the comfort of people, which to her now seemed like a safe lie. She

walked away and when her young friend, Water Paw, began to follow

she asked him not to.

She left the ghost of the celebration with the valley at her back. The

animal figures observed her as she came across the places she

remembered. She passed the last few people going to sleep as they bid

her the night, past the weaving antlers and the untreated piles of

leather. For all the familiar sights and sounds, none gave welcome. She

was once again a stranger in a foreign settlement, unknown, searching.

She walked through the sleeping settlement as small stirrings sounded

from shelters and, in each home, invisible lights shone. She came to a

stop at the front of one shelter; she knew no light shone within. Its walls

were made from the ribs of a mastodon and leather that weaved in and

out. A sheet was stretched across the entrance, held shut by a rock.

The home that had once meant safety she now faced as if caught in

front of a hulking black bear. The size of the entire sky did not rival the

magnitude of what she might find on the other side of its walls. Her

notion of all things waned as she knelt down in front of the entrance,

and removed the rock that kept the shelter closed. The leather sheet

flickered and her heart flickered with the same motion as she was

granted a glimpse of the darkness inside. For fear of losing what smallhope she had left, she parted the sheet, lowering her stance, and

crawled into where she had not been for a long time.

. . .

As she stood in the dark, her senses adjusted, but she recognised more

than just the scents and sights of the empty shelter; she was standing in

the very emptiness that perturbed her. Her mother was not etching atleather to decorate a shelter, her father’s friends were not laughing with



him, her grandfather was not telling her to spend more time with Water

Paw, nor was her brother spending the best of his energy as only

children can. Nothing had been found at her settlement, nor anything of

lasting value with her people, and, finally, inside her own home, she

found nothing.

The night drew on, she faced the void that was left in her, the empty

home, and longed to fill its unlit walls with the light of loving people, of

anybody who could love. Though there was nothing left of it, she

couldn’t let go. In the safety of her heart, she would introduce strangers

even, after having been so cruelly deprived. She lay on the floor,

watching the starry sky through the opening. The world must have some

glow to give her, something meant for her, at the end of a journey, or the

start of another.

. . .

The hunter was staring at a leather ceiling, slightly nauseous from the

drink, the memories of the celebration fresh on his mind. He

remembered being caught in the whirlwind of that woman, but the

memory brought to him only regret. He remembered her eyes, her

features, the smell of her hair. He remembered his entrancement in

these things, but could not recall why. He sat up, caught in guilt and

shame for having reached for a ghost of love that had never been.Though it was love that had brought him to the valley, in the end, he

gave in to an immediate kind of love. In being distracted by the body, he

had looked away from his greater wisdom.

In that earth-dream state, he found that which resembled what he

wished to love, and, without the wisdom of his Sky, he could not tell

truth from lie. When he had danced with her, he was not himself;

disconnected from his deeper element, he became a poor reflection.Lost and sabotaged, he punched the dirt. There was nothing of a home

in that shelter, only an easy solution for a childish mind. He got up,

ignoring the gentle murmur from behind him that asked him to stay.

Casting off his self-defeat, he removed himself from the shelter, the

confines of the desires of his mind.

Outside, the wind whistled very softly, like a flute. He had begun that

journey in search of justice, the moulding of peace, but gave it up for hissmall desires. However, the wing bone flute was still there, behind the



rocks of the little cave, awaiting him. If the woman at the three fires had

given anything of value, it was the realization that he was more than just

a body and he had more than just a mind to satiate. His true future

waited for him, at a craggy rock that was almost a mountain. This far, he

could see.

. . .

The moon fades, with no sign of day. The shadows it casts darken the

trees. That same shadow begins to enter our cave from the ledge. The

magic of the night has receded somewhat, all left of it is the tale that

continues on. There is no longer the vision of mountains rising and

falling, they stand quite still. I, too, am made to feel smaller, a speck

controlled by the sun, time and the wind. The air I breathe has been

breathed before, and my thoughts are but happenstance. As the moon

dips out of sight, the earth becomes indiscernible, completely black. I

am left with only his voice and the tale that carries the memory of the

night. In the dark I listen.

. . .

CHAPTER 7: THAT WHICH LIFTS THE SUN

River’s eye left the three fires, walking away from the settlement and all

that was to be found there. He walked until he came across a small cliff.

To the distant drums, he climbed, rock by rock, up to his solitude. He

climbed to where the ground was flat again, then lifted himself over the

edge.

The clifftop was flat, dusty and dark. The drums had stopped, the night

was suddenly quiet, and there was something else up there with him.

He first thought the dark shape to be a cloud, but as he moved forward,

he realized it was much closer than that. The drums had left behindghosts of their rhythm and they were pounding. The tenebrous form’s

wings drew him in slowly, and when he finally faced its true shape, he

was beyond retreat. He stared at the giant bird’s dead face, its wings of

stone containing him. The vain hope of escape was somewhere beyond

the edge of that cliff, his lonely world.

Within the same journey, he had discovered the closest love and the



closest fear, and at his destination, he had come to find they were both

born from within. He’d travelled in accordance with his deep

expectations, his principles, and they had not fared well. Here was

neither home nor power. He realized, humbly, that he couldn’t remain as

he was, he would have to change, bend and twist to conform to the

strong forces now imposed on him. He sat and closed his eyes, in the

middle of the circle designated by the statues’ wings. They enveloped

him gradually, tightening his breath, slowing his heartbeat short of being

silent.

The earth’s call is a wild howl, and that safe feeling he sought was a

fragile raft protecting him from the truth. The ideas, the symbols that

he’d used to navigate and structure his endeavour, the girl, the dead

bird, the storm, all helped him understand by simplifying but also

subverting what he should have known. That is why he’d failed.

In the desire for control, she was that uncertain element that birthed

chaos. She defined his need for safety, peace. Without his want for

home, the world would be a simpler place, a torrential storm of

possibility. He longed to dip his feet in the water.

He felt in touch with the world, in a way he had never felt before. He

was an element of it, he had no will. He only lived by the whim of the

current. He felt himself diffuse into all of reality, and the more he

witnessed the void inside, the less of himself he felt. By giving himself to

the earth, he could see a shadow, with no body. In a trance, and at the

brink of feeling nothing of his own, he saw a tiny glimmer.

It was like starlight, comprised of a dream substance that shone deep in

the mysterious darkness within. As he peered into the point of light, itwas met by another that carried a familiar sensation. He knew to whom

this second star belonged. He opened his eyes, looking past the floor of

the clifftop, knowing that she was somewhere down there. Her heart’s

call reached him from the beyond edge of the cliff. This time he would

not go to her. His actions would not be defined by glimmers and visions,

he would not step off the edge in terror.

When stood up into the still night, he no longer felt at the mercy of its



fading light anymore. Seeing it all so clearly, he did not need home or

shelter from fundamental fear. The giant crow behind him seemed to

crumble and crash to the ground. Inside of his mind, in the thick dust

that was kicked up, he knew precisely the one thing that would prove all

his notions. He knew how to subdue the world to his will.

. . .

The hunter walked through the verdure and up the hill, away from thesettlement and the valley canyon. The moon was no longer in sight.

With his spear and shield in hand, he walked strong with purpose and

duty that he had been given, that he had, in fact, sought. The gift was a

vision of what ignorance would bring him. This consequence prompted

him into motion, filling his footsteps with something wise and humble.

. . .

The faintest breezes of morning bring the scent of dewy grass up to us.

The stars now glaze over, as dreams are replaced by hopes.

“As a hummingbird ends when its wings stop beating, so does the

chaos that is tied to infinite love, at the counterpoint extremes of reality.

All existence is change and pure existence, pure being, is like a river

choosing its own path to the ocean.” . . .

Pale sky awoke to a soft wind caressing her face. As it entered from the

shelter opening, the sheet at the entrance flicked. The first thing to greet

her was a sense of unfamiliarity that she had not expected. This place

and these people were all so strange to her now. Longing had also

been waiting for her to wake. She remembered searching at the sunsethill, at the labyrinth of stones, the hunter’s arms and the fisherman’s

eyes. She’d searched in the rain, in the firelit shelter, and in the rain

again. She’d searched across two rivers and a hundred faces and then

this place.

She lay motionless for a while, listening to the sleep of the place

outside, wind, rustling, until her she couldn’t bear to stay so still.

Crawling towards the leather sheet at the shelter’s entrance, she slowly



exposed herself to the world outside and all the secrets it had safely

kept.

She walked through the settlement, the glow in each shelter almost

visible. She felt so dark in comparison. Softly her steps sounded on the

ground, her eyes painting everything with her seeking gaze. She looked

for them but neither was there. All she desired was to see one of them.

She wanted somebody to be there, someone from whom she could feela real presence, just enough to free her from despair. When it became

apparent that she would not find them, she changed her course, to the

only remnant of that irredeemable love called pure, love that had once

belonged to flesh and voice, love that had been poured onto a rock face

and there remained. She hoped that the carvings left on the stone wall

would remind her of the forms in her own heart... and towards her

mother’s statue she headed.

The wolf seemed to watch over all before it with unnatural precision. It

sat deep in the rock, a pale wolf with a sleek body and a downcast

snout. Its coat was vibrant with detail and, in the faint light, it could

almost jump off the rock had its feet not been trapped. It was

incomplete, as its feet were still encased in crude stone.

She saw all the love and attention that had gone into all of itscompositions. Every etch, every smooth surface, was a reminder of that

person she wouldn’t see again and that lost lifetime that had once been

the firm soil to her thoughts and feelings. Now she was boundless, dust

on the wind, with only the memory of the things she’d considered

important. In this larger world of pain and trials, she desired only the

slightest reminder that there was an absolute hidden somewhere in the

treacherous conditions.

She stood before it in the dawning light, and waited to feel. Nothing

gave answer, as once more the silence reached her like a grim hound

with a taste for her sorrow. She fell to her knees and her spirit receded.

Averted from the statue’s hollow beauty, she noticed a dark coloured

flower on the ground. People would come to find within these totems,

through open hearted reflection, hope, strength, or providence. It was

through these statues that the watcher and provider gave. Why then



could she receive nothing, in her most deprived state?

A faint breeze shook the flower. It was withered and dry; nobody came

to see this one. She thought she heard a voice, faint, as though over a

massive distance. Poor wolf was as abandoned as she. For the first

time, she turned her perspective outwards, and was able to look at her

own reflection, a view of her place in the world. The statue no longer

held the features of the watcher or her mother. As she looked into the

statues eyes, the eyes looked back into her.

Its paws encased in rock were as imprisoning as her need for home.

She sought safety, and in so seeking safety, she would never be free.

The wolf’s eyes looked deeper into her being. She sought love, and in

seeking love, she would never find it. To attain was to be, the search

was an illusion. The statue became alive with light, illuminating the

depths of her being. All she could see was the love that had been freely

given, love that could imbue a simple rock face with a power of its own.

Her mother had given love to nothing, and from that, the watchers gift

was carried.

Her sky self revelled in a place away from time and that indelible feeling

trickled down to her earthly self in an emotion, not a notion, that caught

her body like rolling thunder. She finally found the cure for the silence

and it was more than a sound; it was music.

. . .

EPILOGUE:

Far Shade walked through the light of the morning, finding his way back

through the faint trail they had walked not one sleep ago. Now nightwould, in turn, retire, as dawn rose from the soil. In the cold of that pale

morning, before the sun had risen, he arrived in front of the bridge.

Coming up from the shadows was the sound of the river rushing far

below. The fresh light did not allow him to see how far, but it was certain

death. Now that he had reached the precipice, he found himself unable

to walk forward. Thoughts swarmed him; what if the bridge was to

crumble under his feet, or what if a sudden wind was to topple him? He



tried to move one foot forward, but was held fast. The thoughts that

restrained him hid the real reason; up ahead, through the trees, its

contour made sharp by dawn’s light, the monument that marked his

destiny awaited him, still holding its savage howl.

His dreams and the strangest of signs had ushered him to where he

stood and with such a dutiful pace he had walked there. Yet he now he

found himself immobile, for, standing on the other side of the bridge this

time, he was looking towards his death.

He turned to where the settlement would be; there was a source of real

happiness, and a life that bore fruit of bliss. But he knew to grasp at that

bliss was to curse it. He knew he had his inner wisdom to cater for,

despite his body’s fear of the justice soon to be imposed on it. In the

end, death was justice. It was the return to peace, from the chaos of

change in a living being. It was the price of being alive.

Standing at the bridge to oblivion, he began to fear it was too high a

price for such a small life. Regardless of the scars held on his chest,

regardless of his conquests, he had not nourished his spirit, and so he

relied on the strength of his body. His own avoidance of pain was what

nurtured and raised his fear, ultimately, of death. His body was only a

melody to his being, and yet he feared losing that melody. In such

devotion to his own song, he neglected to make the choices towards

growth, and he knew this. This is why the price of death was simply too

high; his life was not yet worth it. But as time would continue forward,

he knew that he wouldn’t change, and some cycles from then, when

death did find him, he would still be unworthy. So, like ripples in a pond,

vying to complete their forms before returning to stillness, he would

grasp and grasp for hollow phantoms, those that he decided would give

his life worth, and avoid those things that would diminish him.In being granted this honest and sorry sight of himself, he could not

deny it, and he hoped it would not prevail over what he knew was right.

It was a choice, the most important choice, the options defined by that

small earth bridge. On the other side, in a small cave, a wing bone flute

directed him to the peace he sought; to face the perpetrators of one

violent chaos, the murderers and defilers of the wise and peaceful life.

They hid in the caves that pocketed the immense rock that was their



lair. Fierce howls they harboured, like wild creatures of the wind, and in

his mind, he saw them descending upon him, trailing behind them the

shadows from their abode. His shield and his spear would be directed

by his purpose, neither angered nor fearful, and fighting with all his

strength, he would no doubt die, but die in creating a peaceful calm

where violence spilled. It was the fighting of all the world’s wrongs, to

him, and for the flourishing of all things right. But to reach this, he would

need to render himself to torture and horror, relinquishing his own good

for the sake of something better. But it was not some ideal human

standing on the edge of the bridge, it was him. How could he make

such a difference from the remnants of a dream? He would simply die

fighting and that would be the end of him. Behind him, that girl perhaps

rested, one that he had risked his own to protect, and in her he found,

crystallized, the emotion of eternity. Among the fires and the dusty drink,

under the blue moon and among the echo from the far cliffs, there was

a happiness waiting to be found. If he returned, her company would

grant to his life the potential for the greatest happiness and comfort. It

seemed, in his mind, like a garden where fruits would fall into his hands

for him to enjoy and throw their seeds to the soil. The sun would rise

and fall on his breathing body for cycles to come and, in such time, he

could forge his patterns to an ideal shape. Across the bridge was death,

and before it was life. He wished better than to fail himself, but, in the

end, which of his selves would he obey? Just moments before the sun

caught its first sight of him, on the new day, the hunter’s feet found

motion again.

. . .

The light slowly illuminated the valley full of trees that stretched below

the circle of cliffs. The tall walls, too, relinquished their shadows to mistylight as they overlooked a sleepy settlement. The wolf’s shadow was

cast onto the rock, its eyes and long snout glinting as the sun steadily

rose. A fragrant wind billowed the dust and lifted the girl’s hair off her

shoulders. She looked to the sunrise. Nobody was around to see, but

the pale yellow light filled her eyes. Along with her illuminated features,

she wore a smile.

. . .



In the mist of the morning, the fisherman’s son had climbed down from

his nocturnal perch and finally found her. Receded he stood, pressed

against the cliff. In the morning silence only the waterfall and waking

birds could be heard, so he stood very still, watching her. There she

was, the element that made his entire reality quiver with the nauseating

feeling of uncertainty.

. . .

She looked on the shelters as the valley slowly woke. Clouds beyond

the cliffs rose into sight, pink in the morning light. She no longer felt the

yearning for home, for all around her, she felt it. The refuge and peace

she had travelled so far for had reached her, and she was reached for

by even more. ‘Follow the river upstream, when you return, you will find

me’. All things past made sense, as did the chaotic elements of the

entire world.

. . .

Love was his star speaking to hers, but he’d cut his sentence short at

the vital point. Clouded by the want for control, controlled by fear of the

unknown, he could not discern the lights of love from the dark in

between. All people shone, their constellations becoming increased in

constitution, until, at the end of time, all would be light. But he saw

differently, for his wings were dipped in the void that gaped between the

stars.

. . .

She was turned around forcefully by a tense hand and she lost balance.

The young man stood very close to her, against the image of her

mother’s statue, his body tense, his eyes fixed and deflecting her

heartfelt expression. He grabbed her shoulder and pressed her towardsthe ground. Confused, she complied, until she saw the axe unwoven

from his waist, its handle held in a firm grip. She screamed, but found

his hand covering her mouth, pushing her backwards. As her back hit

the stone floor, he dropped to his knees and, with pain and anguish,

lifted the axe. She gasped for breath as he removed his hand. As the

axe swiftly descended to her neck, its sharpened blade caught the sun’s

rising light, glinting gold, and time slowed down until it almost arrested.



. . .

He was taking one final action of servitude to love, and with it, he would

be free. Her body, assaulted and beneath him, held the love that he

would remove. He was so close to this goal, but the closer the axe fell,

the greater his terror grew. The dark between the stars was greater than

he had ever imagined. Against motions unstoppable, his spirit cried at

his arms to stop, for only his deeper self knew what nightmare awaited

him. His axe, steadily and surely, was on the way to taking him there.

There, was not a place, but a fear that would find him in the last

moments of his forsaken life, and in those moments lay upon him an

eternity of torture, but he could not stop what was started.

. . .

He sat above her, holding the axe that was swiftly falling to meet her

end. In the expanded moments, she watched his eyes for some sign,

and there it was. Terror grew in his expression; worry, regret and pity for

his fate, as the instrument of his perdition bore down on a decisive

journey. Her pilgrimage would end before it had a chance to begin, but

she had one thing to teach. As she looked into his eyes, in the spirit

world, one star, for just a moment, radiated brighter than all others, such

that its light reached far across the expanse of darkness, to catch his

fading star that was falling away. Her sky self held his panicked spirit

and calmed it with forgiveness, bringing him back to her constellation,

showing him the truth he had narrowly missed.

Love may be the foundation of home, but what she’d learnt that morning

was that it was not the receiving of love that painted peace on its walls,

it was the free giving of her own. To love all of creation, is to make

existence into heaven. She had found home at last, and, so safe, with

the last action of her life, she saved him.

. . .

“If ever you are blinded, see love for what it really is; the thread of

common existence connecting all beings.”

Arms of light embrace the sky from the edges of the land in hues of green and yellow. My father looks there and takes a long breath. Still



sitting, he looks at me, and before he speaks, casts his eyes to the

back of our shelter. His gaze moves slowly downwards, setting the tale

to sleep, returning to the realm of dreams the hunter, the fisherman’s

son, and the unknown girl. . .

.

Though the characters fade to dust in reality and are set to the wind,

something remains... the elusive truth is so familiar, when told. The

night before, I was captured by the earth’s prayer and the timeless

emotion. I had feared that with the passing of the night I would forget its

revelations, but I can still hear it.

Little Birds' Bones

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Transcript of Little Birds' Bones