Renigenenis

Continuation of The Whale in the Desert tale

Dawn doused dunes in desperate luminescence that chased the shadows back into their cave. Pulsos de zumo desplegados en el aire retorcían las mismísimas sábanas de arenilla hasta el vértigo del celeste, que una vez derramado sobre la tierra, traía el gris cargado de agonía y amor. One could not exist without the other. Aconteció, que con una ráfaga de viento apareció un camino that led to the peldaños que daban con la cara de un precipicio que harbored a lush valley bellow its wrinkled wall, and so the Mason went down the steps, bastón en mano.

En la distancia—un riachuelo serpenteaba entre el terreno árido. El aire anaranjado esclarecía con cada escalón, con cada paso, escuchaba más clara la melodía del correntío desplazado entre lozas, entre piezas; civilizaciones de antaño-futuro de memorias: memorias falsas; el cac del bastón estacando madera con madera alertó a los gránulos de arena y los gránulos de arena de paso alertaron al desierto. Una vez dió el último paso del último escalón, el escalón se derrumbó —y el hombre escapó ágilmente con un giro en el suelo. He looked back.

Accepted the collapse,

And pushed forth!

What seemed once to be

A lush valley from above was arid land

Cracked.

Barren, except for the sizzles of the

Serpent of Life that unspooled

Into the Vastness.

Undulating waves distorted the landscape seen from inside the skull’s grooves where his eyes lay. Something loomed from afar. He could sense being pierced by the gaze. Bending one knee, he swirled his mantle back and put his hand on the ground—he scanned the valley and listened to it breath. If anyone wanted to make a move they would have to do so in the open. He got up and moved towards the water. Horned skulls incrusted on the ground with dead trees and cactuses adorned one corner of the wrinkled facade the man came down from. Marks on the ground signaled the presence of life. Ignoring the site, he continued his way towards the river. Crystalline, warm, but not enough for it to displease the man’s gorge as he slurped from the cup of his hands clasped together. Dragged by the current, a thin twig stopped on contact with his hands. Was it an invitation? Peering back to where the driftwood came—he saw a faint cloud of dust dissolve.

Hard shadows stretched across the land. Damn, I could use some music he wished. Claps echoed through the dry expanse: dust dispersed in broad cloud-like rows, nothing moved besides the wind: it carried the acrid scent of sweat with it, he could tell those fat drops held some nervousness with ‘em, but not fear; whatever watched knew how to remain out of sight. Its scent on the other hand, could lead a nose to its trail. He turned, and saw the cliffs where he came from. His staff grew heavy in his hand. Weight generates great force when wielded correctly. Whoever is following me must be alone. If not they wouldn’t have let me drink from the canal. Unless… it was intended. Out in the open the man was vulnerable from every direction, yet he felt secure in his position and felt eager to challenge whatever hid in plain sight. Specs of dirt collected on the corners of his mouth, his face painted brown; cool streaks of sweat traced paths down his skin. I’ll just head ba—. Un vendaval desplazó una ola que azotó la cara del hombre, cegándolo momentáneamente, los pequeños proyectiles ardían al restrallar contra su piel. Thick sábanas of dust impeded anything from being seen. The howling wind grew fiercer, the poor man’s feet made little progress trudging through: like running against the current in water while carrying a bodybag.

From between the mist he caught glimpses of some shadow move past the corner of his vision and move in front and then disappeared. From somewhere close an unnerving scream mixed in with the blasting gale; an orange hue made it cartoonish, the resisting whirls, the clueless soul that battled, impetus in calmness: nature both ravenous and still bidding for control. Gnawing at the back of his head the image of the shadow that escaped his visage. Splitting winds clawed at his mantle, trying to peel it off his resisting body. Blocking him stood the wall of ráfagas mocking him—In the middle of the storm I’ll remain calm. All my hope posited in the chance of reprisal. Aligned with my Code I will honor Them, whom I was modeled after— More screeching screams came from within the orange, he raised his arm and tucked his face inside the nook of his elbow, flurries racing past his sides, whatever stood in front of him kept darkening—each three steps set him back two.

Alain Chamfort’s Manureva haunted his mind. It echoed. Des jours et des jours, tu dérivas, mais jamais tu n’arrivas. Là-bas!

A black silhouette cut through the winds. A raven. It sat on the crown of a cactus. Most would think of it as the first sign of life. The Mason knew different. Everything was alive. He knew that being alone didn’t always meant nobody was there. Screeching noises kept percolating through the winds—a cry, for help? Pushing against the gusts he moved towards darkness following the sounds that ant-crept up and down the mounds of dust and bone blowing the granular carpet sparse across the plains into the wind and out to the world gone with the shadows that hide from light the sound was gone. Was that a child? Palm opened and arm extended the man inched closer to the imposing nothingness that impeded all clarity to sight—porous granite grainy rough rock—a boulder and from bellow a whistle. Acute. Feeling the rock he bent at the knee, pushing against it, reading any information he could from the formation—a hole, he pushed himself away with low force to avoid falling in.

Ducking his head into the cavity beneath the stone he saw: sharp bright amber spheres staring back at him. A nimble clawed paw stretched into the light revealing its desert rust bristled fawn. Backing up, the Mason clutched his staff and squinted. What are you? Silent as a thought it moved and the winds slowed down as it stepped forth and out of the hole as the man backed and fell. Speckled in dusty shades, elongated tufted in black ears like that of a caracal swiveling to every subtle noise they pick. Its stance was fearless, defiant—yet gracious. A ruggedness reminiscing that of the honey badger. It showed in the way it scanned the man, unfazed.

Its sharp snout nose sniffling

The air—

Stepped forth nimble claws

In silence, unease left and came back

With each

Breath

Awe

Fear

Respect.

Outside the chancel chances were chains of

Scavengers would ensnare the creature/Tie it as the spirit tethered on flesh

Hide it as fibers hold

Bone cracking diseases sneaking their treacherous virus to

Generations.

Blow piff smoked beef two shifts for the wind blows

Broke spliffs soaked skin in gasoline off the rim thrown

Engulfed in the aura of the creature his steel toe boots stand on the ring

Grown.

Silence bonded the encounter and a swift sway in between in and out the legs of the Mason sealed the unspoken contractual companionship.