Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 27

Two Moons is a new novel by J. Raymond Ractliffe that explores the inner spirit life of Africa, her people and their powerful faith in the world of the Unseen.

The Mark of the Two Moons
Chapter 27

     Konjaru could feel the warmth of the fire as it touched his skin. His eyes fluttered like butterflies, fighting to rise and open in the air. The hours spent in one prone position on the earthen floor now brought stiffness to aching muscles, his bound hands and feet could not be stretched out relieving cramps that began to pull tightly at him.

His temple throbbed where Zizi had struck him. The flying ash and scalding embers had blinded him, his eyes red hot and filled with the dust of her fury. Konjaru had struck out blindly with his blade that had moments before held a quivering Sampanga. The blow that had come out of his blindness had pitched him forward into the deeper darkness and the visions that came from the world of Ngai and his Ancestors.

His mind's eye now filled with the memories of Majura as she stepped into the stone circle from the darkness and touched his face with her hand and her words.

A chill pierced his heart. With a dull ache, he remembered the words that were of his son. He did not know the meaning of the Two Moons, nor the warnings of loss and of the life struggles that were to come. That his son was to survive and live was all he needed to hear.

A sound rose into the night, a steady wailing pitched high as it rode the rising smoke from fires dotted around the compound. It came from all quarters around him, voices rose to join the pain of those wounded in the spirit. A child's cry found his own mothers voice and added to the chorus as they sang of loss and misfortune that had come to the people of the village.

It was the ancient song that heralded the news of the passing of a Great Chief.

A heavy dull hand reached down and grasped tightly at his heart, holding his breath and squeezing a tear from his eyes as he listened to the singing that marked the death of his father. The sounds around him dulled as the pain filled his spirit with an unbearable sense off loss.

He remembered now that he had come to this place after hearing of a conspiracy that had threatened the carved throne of his father, snaking its way to the fevered blood of his son who now lay healing under the Milk Eye of Majura. Konjaru's haste had not won him time to save his father from the poison borne from the ritual knife that had made his son a man.

Now his father's body lay cold, wrapped in the wild spotted skins of a Chief, the healing draughts removed from his side with the last remaining proof that his journey to the stars had been hastened not by Ngai but by the evil of man.

Konjaru's pain became focused as the sickening image of Zizi and Sampanga coupling like dogs filled his mind. While his father lay dying from their evil, Zizi offered herself as prize to the one whose evil had ended his father's voice.

A sharp stone that lined the flickering fire caught his eye. He raised his bound hands towards its sharpest jagged point and dragged the leather thongs along its ridge. Like grinding meal for a midday feast, backwards and forwards he pulled until he could feel the pressure begin to ease as the thongs became frayed and weak.

One then two of the strands gave way, until finally with a sudden snap the power trapped in them to bind him gave way. His still numbed fingers took much longer to find the threads and unlock his ankles. It was easier to cut his bonds with a stone than find the knotted threads for his final release in the darkness.

Konjaru paused now that he was free, rubbing his swollen ankles and wrists. This was the time to think as a man and not rush like an animal into any further traps they might have been set for him. It was too late to save his father, the singing cries of his people and wailing of children in the night a testament to their success.

He leaned over and peered out of the doorway into the night's darkness. Fires blazed against the stars as families stood huddled outside their doorways. The inner walls too close to house their grief. The soft night air cooled against wet checks, tear swollen eyes spilling over as memories filled hearts with laughter and pride.

He could hear rustling near the royal compound. Padded leather feet drummed dust into the night air like the restless cattle straining against the posts of their enclosures. Hushed voices spoken together ran like trickling waters, each sound blending with the next to form a gentle ripple.

Out of this mixture of fire lit dust and blended voices, out stepped Zizi from the shadows from the interior of his father's royal hut. In her hands the last glistening bowl and ragged cloth that ministered and wiped away the foulness of his dying. He could see her bowing to the elders as they spoke to her, answering them respectfully in return to their pressed questions.

When their questions could no longer be answered and only the silence of the night filled their air between them, they finally spoke no more and stood silently facing their unspeakable grief. Their eyes searching the skies for answers that would not come, they dared not look to another's eyes for comfort for fear their strained hearts would reveal the tremors that shook the interiors of their souls.

In this final silence, Zizi withdrew from their eyes, turning back towards her own hut. She walked slightly stooped, favoring one side as she left their circle. Thinking this to be her pride as the eldest wife of the chief, Konjaru did not know that the stiffness was caused by his own blade striking her as he fell.

Konjaru pulled back away from the entrance of the hit into the folds away from the fire Woven cloth hanging from a soot stained rafter allowed him to blend into the darkness, only his burning eyes revealing the anger and grief that awaited Zizi.

A rustle outside, scraping sand and stone from her feet spoke that Zizi had come. The seconds seemed like minutes as he waited for her. In his mind, the swirling emotions suddenly found their focus. What had been a raging fire now became cold and clear.

From the stiffness of her side, a grunt of pain escaped Zizi's lips as she slipped through the doorway. Then she paused with a louder gasp as she stared at the empty space on the floor that had held Konjaru. Only the flayed leather strands lying discarded in the firelight proof that Konjaru had been bound here in her hut.

That fool Sampanga had not done what she has asked, to make sure that he was bound tightly and unable to escape.

"I will kill the stuttering fool, the next time I see him. Damn him!" she said out loud as she came in through the doorway.

Fingers pulled the cloth to one side, revealing unblinking eyes that bore into her and stopped her cold. "Not before I have run him through and split him open." Konjaru's voice held her transfixed.

"You both are going to die tonight, slowly and with great pain. And when you have died with your rotting blood spilling into the sand, you will have told me all of the details of your murderous schemes and plans."

From her fingers the bowl and cloth she had been carrying fell to the ground. The loud crack of it breaking snapped her out of her frozen surprise and she lunged at Konjaru with a heart-chilling scream that filled the night. Her outreached fingers curling with murderous intent, reaching for his throat to rip away his words that spelt the end of her years of planning that had now come no nothing.

Konjaru stepped sideways and with open hand, struck her loudly on the side of he head that silenced her scream. She landed in the same cloth that had just minutes before had hidden Konjaru, pulling it down over herself, entangling her as she fell. The stitches in her side splitting as she fought to regain herself, the blood began to seep down her side.

In a jumble of thrashing legs and arms, spewing obscenities at him with spittle and hate, Zizi finally cleared her head from the folds and with eyes flashing fury and scorn, she screamed at him.

"Your father died tonight in his own foul waste, not like a chief but like a sick goat. I gave him the ground beans that tore at his stomach and made him scream like a sick child. He died a little man, as you are and like your son now with the Old Woman"

"I should have killed you before I left tonight, slit your throat and let you bleed into the sand. No one would have known you would then have lived under the entrance door of my hut. They would not have known of the pleasure I would have felt coming to my hut every day, stepping over you as you slept curled like a child under the stones." she hissed.

"You always were a poor choice of a wife. Your belly empty, you had to lay with a dog to fill it with that idiot son of yours." Konjaru said calmly. "You and that stuttering fool Sampanga shall both die for killing my father. But for trying to kill my son, you shall die painfully, screaming for death to come quickly."

With one free hand, Zizi reached for a burning log deep within the fire. Holding it with a clenched hand, she did not feel the hot coals that burned deep within her palm. Repeating what seemed like an earlier scene, she waved the flame before him like a wand, pushing Konjaru back against the wall. Her smile sickened Konjaru, white spittle formed the edges of her mouth, the madness that had fuelled her schemes now boiled over.

With a screaming lunge at Konjaru face, the entangled cloth still wrapped around her legs made her trip and Zizi fell headfirst into the fire in a wild heap.

The wild flames found the most sensitive places. Hot coals filled her open eyes and seared forever in her mind the last image she would have. Konjaru standing before her in the firelight with hatred in his eyes. Zizi's pupils burned, closed forever even as tears rushed in to save them.

Soft and gentle lips that only moments before spewed hatred and scorn, now bubbled and burned as her other hand could not find the earth beneath her to push away the fire that engulfed her head. The flesh around the nose became blacker still, the inside membranes inhaling scalding soot and searing heat that burned away the smells of her own burning flesh.

In a last gasp of hatred, Zizi flung the burning log at Konjaru and rolled away from the burning pain, trying to untangle the fires that now burned the cloth around her. The log flew through the air in a gentle arc and landed in the upper darkness behind Konjaru.

The flames quickly found the driest thatch, drawing more to fuel its hunger. Sparks now jumped to the ground as it licked its way up into the darker recess of the roof and in moments, the hiss of its burning was louder than the cooking fire.

Konjaru's own instinct for survival broke the coolness of his revenge. He stepped back and went through the doorway into the fresh air and waited for Zizi to emerge.

Inside the hut, the thatch was now burning and jumping from pole to pole, raining bright sparks all around her. A last frenzied flurry freed Zizi from the arms of the cloth and the burning coals trapped in the folds. Now she was dancing in the air, patting the burning embers that clung to her skin.

Sightless eyes found no opening away from the pain. Zizi reached out in front of her and found only warm mud walls. Her burned hands searched left and then right in frantic haste but could not find the doorway that was to have been the final resting place of Konjaru.

The whole roof was now burning, the flames falling all around her, burning her back, and the remains of her hair. The thick black cloak of smoke filled her lungs, her sightless eyes were streaming tears down her cheeks.

Outside, Konjaru could hear her screaming, both in pain and heaping curses on his name. Added to the madness Konjaru could hear Zizi's eternal damnation on the stuttering rutting Sampanga. Konjaru waited for her to come through the wooden doorway and the safety of the open air but she never came.

Zizi chose to stay within the certainty of her flaming death knowing that all had failed. The carved throne no closer to her son that it had ever been. The laughter of the woman of the village and certainty of war clubs breaking her legs and being left out on the open had made her choice to stay by her son's bedroll all the easier.

She closed her arms over her breasts as the first burning thatch fell across her shoulders, peeling away her skin until they too fell to the dung floor.

The searing heat tried to enter her mind and scold her dreams before her death.

Standing beside Konjaru by the entrance of her hut, Ngai held Zizi's dreams in his hands as she slipped away into the fire. And when the flames became silent, Ngai raised his hands and shook Zizi's dreams out into the night sky, where they found their place in between the stars. Ngai strode silently away and left the village compound towards the hilltop with the burned high stones that scratched at the sky, where the fevered young warriors lay within the mud walls of an old Milk Eyed Woman.

Only the slow wailing song of the passing of the chief remained in the night air. Of Zizi, the most senior of the chief's remaining wives, only the embers hissed her name until they also cooled to silence.

The dust caused by the trampling and haste of sandaled feet fell back down to the earth. The cattle settled once more into their rhythmic song of night, even the twinkling eyes in the long shadows blinked once more and slept.

The air became still as it waited for the morning.

Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 26

Two Moons is a new novel by J. Raymond Ractliffe that explores the inner spirit life of Africa, her people and their powerful faith in the world of the Unseen.

The Mark of the Two Moons
Chapter 26

        Sampanga first stopped by the stream outside the compound beside a large stone by a fallen log, washed down the winding river by a forgotten storm. Had the moonlight been brighter, he would have seen a broken plume that lay at his feet and the churned sand of a morning encounter. Further up the stream, another trunk lay buried in the sand, it's sun bleached form illuminated by the pale moon.

Sampanga had left Zizi's hut and returned to his own where a smoldering fire had been rekindled. Carefully selected herbs in a boiled broth had filled his mind and body with new powers that would make him invisible to all eyes in the night. Feathers had crowned his headdress and bones cast on his mat had increased the power of this shield. The ancient words taught to him by his father filled the air in repeated song, driving the physical body to be as the mist. Even the light from the moon over the hilltop above would not find him. Sampanga was more afraid than he had ever been. The slow death cast to ones enemy by mixing a few herbs was a far cry from challenging the Old Woman.

He watched the compound for any signs that the faint morning light on the horizon had woken the inhabitants and stirred them to the coming day. His powers would last only as long as the Moon remained in the sky and cast her blue light onto the land. The sun would bring the yellow light driving away his shield and making his approach known.

He had walked and run the many miles between the village and this compound without fear as he was certain none of the stalking animals lurking in the bush or long grasses would harm him. He would overtake them by like the winds that came from the mountains, their footprints only visible as they walked through the tall fields.

There was little time remaining. Other than thin wafting grey ribbons that rose lazily from old fires, there was no sound or stirring. Two of the huts had cold fires outside of their entrances. Pots and gourds marked that they were fires that fed and ministered to those that lived here. The other hut had smoke coming from the inside, making the interior warm for aged muscles and bone.

It took little deduction that this must be where the Old Milk Eyed One slept. The other huts held her young sleeping apprentices. They would be the first to stir, stoking their old fires to life, bringing morning maze and milk to their mother.

The long hunting spear held by his side felt unfamiliar. He had not hunted for many, many years. Rather exchanging herbs and broths for his daily needs. There was always a sick child or spell to cast or break to fulfil his needs. He had tied a small Garland of herbs mixed with wild fats to the shaft. This had also made the spear appear invisible in the blue light.

As he walked towards the compound, the sand bank gave way to chilled running water as the stream slowly rose to his chest. A few more feet and he could feel the sand and weed by his feet begin their climb to the other side.

His sandals slightly squelched as he left the water, his eyes fixed on the hut before him. The wet spear had caught the moonlight as he passed through the night waters, it cast the white flickering light back up into the hills above.

Sampanga paused as he came to the hut entrance. He could hear no stirring from the inside. Those nestled under nighttime cloth still walked in their dreams. To the side he saw a bundle of wood waiting to be used for the morning fire. He reached over and picked up the biggest logs and stacked them gently against the doorway. He repeated this until the entire wood stack had been moved, covering the entrance completely.

Still no sound came from the inside of the hut. The Old Woman must have drawn well on her hemp pipe before she slept.

Sampanga walked over to one of the smaller huts where a thin wisp of smoke told the tale of a still smoldering coal. From the side of the fire stones, he brushed together a few leaves and dried twigs. Blowing slowly, he found a few red coals eager to begin a new life. The light twigs and leaves were added to them as he blew across them. It took a few minutes, before newly singed leaves burst with new light, gentle flames licking out, fighting for breath.

Holding the leaves and twigs cupped in his hand, he walked back to where he had stacked his woodpile across the entrance of the hut. He reached down and gently placed it in the middle between the wood and the doorway. Placing a few larger sticks over the small flame, blowing gently until the flames had found their own strength.

A sudden snap of a twig behind him, Sampanga froze. One hand went to his throat to feel the still hot red line drawn by an earlier blade, a reminder of a stealthy approach he had not heard and had almost paid for with his life.

Out of the shadows, Gileni stepped forward into the moon light. She had woken to the sound of scraping wood, thumping against an outer doorway, the back of her hand searched for her sleeeping eyes to rub the night darkness away. She looked out over the compound, around the mud walls, following possible trails of midnight stalkers and hunters but saw nothing.

She walked over to Mothers hut, looking still to the outer compound for the cause of the sounds that had stirred her from her sleep. Finding nothing to catch her eye or ear, she turned back to her hut when she saw the brilliant yellow fingers dancing in front of the entrance to Mother's hut.

Gileni dashed forward to scoop away the hot danger when suddenly something violent shoved her sideways to the ground. She landed hard on her side, sand and dust rising to fill her eyes and make her gasp for air.

She looked up expecting to see what had attacked her, but saw only the blinking stars and moonlight above. Her eyes darted to and fro, a frown now pinching above her eyes. The flickering light in the stacked wood caught her attention. Gileni rose to run to the danger but again, an invisible hand shoved her to the side with a startled cry, making her fall once again to the earth.

Gileni landed this time face down by the side of the fire stones. Her falling body and the breath from her lungs had raised the fine ash that came from the soot and dust of the old fires. A light mist rose and covered her arms and face, her naked chest heaving through it all.

Gileni was now in a state of panic. The flickering light coming from the doorway of Mother had grown and before her, something unknown was attacking her. Not allowing her to get any closer to putting out the growing fire that was threatening all inside Mother's hut. The fine soot lay suspended in the air, until it fell back to the earth once more.

Her eyes caught a movement on the ground.

There appeared a footstep in the dust, then another.

Gileni's eyes grew wide with fear and terror. This could only be the feared Tokalosie that had found their place here by the stream. Like the fable, it had found them in the night and was going to kill them all with its massive axe.

Gileni was unable to move. Held there by the certain coming of her death and the horror that she was unable to come to the rescue of her Mother and the boys healing within.

Another footstep materialized towards to her in the grey powder. She shrieked now in absolute terror, her hands scrapped the earth on each side of her, she flung the grey soot at her attacker to blind it and dove to the side for cover.

What had come as spirit from the other side of the heavens to cause death and destruction to the lives of men, now coughed and hacked as the fine dry soot found the bottom recesses of its pink wet lungs.

Sampanga's eyes filled with burning tears, fighting the grey dust as it clawed at him. He had not expected this beautiful creature kneeling before him to have reacted the way she did. He was enjoying the cat and mouse game, standing before her, with her eyes unable to see him.

The fine soot now covered him from head to foot. The blue light casting the needed shadows, that a form could be seen rising out of the darkness. The stars no longer blended in behind him in the background, the grey soot shone loudly in the moonlight.

What formless creature stalked her, she did not know. She looked to the mother's hut, the golden flames had grown higher and were licking at the doorway, trying to reach the dry black thatch that would ignite in an instant and explode in a wild frenzy that would make any escape from within impossible.

She lunged towards the doorway, trying to knock the wood away from the door, but the grey shadow moved again and struck her hard from behind. This time, Gileni landed on her breasts, heavier than before, the breath knocked out of her as she fell. Her light tunic fell to the side, the thin leather strings torn by the ground.

On her stomach with her legs apart, the site of this breathless beautiful girl before him transfixed Sampanga. The intimate offering caught his mind, hurling him instantly into the delirium of the Blood Madness.

A quick glance to the entrance to the hut that the fire continued to rise, Sampanga kneeled behind Gileni. With one hand to her neck, he held her firmly down to the ground as she squirmed to be released from his grip. His other hand groped for the thong that held his own covering and that of his own long spear.

The power than surged through his veins was unlike anything he had experienced. Even the rapture and final conquest he had felt with Zizi, was no match for this delight.

Reaching now with his free hand, he held his already stiffening spear, trying to find her opening. Looking down, Sampanga could see the soot that had made himself partly visible, half man in the moonlight, half spirit that remained unknown to the eye.

Gileni was fighting hard, pulling away from him. Hard as he could try with one hand, Sampanga could not make her lie still. This was harder to do than when he was with Zizi earlier in the night. She had been a willing mare, easy to mount as the hot blood made him bold and long behind her.

Gileni's fighting only increased the burning desire that rose up within him. She lashed and tore at him with her flaying arms, Sampanga's own his strength mounting as he forced her face deeper into the ground in front of her. Releasing his free hand from his spear, Sampanga reached forward and struck her loudly on the side of her head. Gileni instantly went limp, her body fell in a gentle heap, her arms struck out beside her as she slid to the ground.

One hand on her neck, Sampanga's free hand reached down between her legs to raise her slightly so that he could finally reach the intimate treasure of his dreams.

He looked down to see where to finally mount her, when suddenly he lost his breath.

Sampanga could not understand why a long metal shaft suddenly stuck out from his chest. His eyes exploded into dots of dancing colour. A cold numbness that had started with this surprise, spread to his arms, making him release Gileni's neck so that both his arms now hung silently by his side.

On his knees, Sampanga stared for a moment longer as the shaft danced in the moonlight. Then with a slithering sucking sound it was gone. A foot to his back pitched him forward without a sound escaping his lips.

He rolled off Gileni to the cold grey sand, his eyes catching a final look as Chezwe raised his bloodied spear to the stars, and sang - "Ayie! My spear has eaten. I have killed the light of the moon."

The numbness spread slowly through his entire body. Sampanga could no longer breathe, the tightness gripping his chest until only the eyes could see.

The moonlight danced to show him the flames as they rose to the thatch over the doorway. The sparks began to crackle and jump to the ground as they began to explode from their hiding places. The flames rose higher and higher deep within the thatch, the dense smoke began to fill the sky as the morning light began to creep up on the horizon.

Sampanga could feel no pain. As the last breath left his body and his eyes dimmed, he could only sigh inwardly at having been so close to his sexual desires and yet again, having failed to properly mount a woman as in his dreams.

Then he was gone.

 

Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 25

Two Moons is a new novel by J. Raymond Ractliffe that explores the inner spirit life of Africa, her people and their powerful faith in the world of the Unseen.

The Mark of the Two Moons
Chapter 25

       Whahnu the Elder looked up into the brilliant night sky. The round moon had illuminated the quiet land, allowing the ancestors to come and walk among the people. They had much to say on such a night as this.

Dark clouds rising on the horizon heralded the rainy season and the life giving waters that brought resurrection to the parched and withered land. For a day and night, he had sat outside his hut, his wives ministering to his needs as he waited patiently for news of the chief. He had quietly spoken of the fears that lay hidden in the breasts of men, that the chief lay dying.

The spirits surly had pointed their gnarled fingers at this royal compound and decreed his coming death. His while hair shone against the night, illuminated by the very light that had been the gateway for the Spirit Walkers that had come and struck down his chief.

He had watched as Zizi had gone back and forth to the chiefs hut. Fresh herbs and broths supplied to her by Sampanga, had made no difference to the chief's illness. In the end, he had lain like a wounded child, the putrid life draining from his body as the final convulsions tore at his soul.

It was not the death of a great wise chief and old friend.

The other elders had come to him. All night, silently standing by his entrance, hoping for some new word of hope until the low wailing of the first mournful woman, spread the news from hut to hut within the compound, that the Great One had risen unto the night sky and become one of those blinking stars that looked out over the people.

Whahnu's thoughts turned to a young boy now healing with the Milk Eyed Woman. The wounds from his becoming a man had burned his blood to a fever that had come to end his life. No matter what had caused the fever, enough was known and highly respected of the Old Woman, the son of the chief would be healed and return a strong warrior to climb the carved throne of his ancestors.

The Elders would help direct the new man to become a great chief, like his father had been before him.

Whahnu's eyes became misty as he thought of his departed friend now blinking above. From the days when they both had played as children in the dust and pathways in the hills that lay on the horizon, their childhood antics and youthful playfulness had caused many a stone to be thrown at them as they passed huts with sleeping tots. Beating drums and the chorus of unbroken voices filled the air with songs of young warriors beating their breasts with pride and imagined glory. Cows scattered as they came, long hours herding them back to their owners where they returned home to rebuke and curses from their parents for their lack of discipline and rowdiness.

Who could have guessed that he would become a respected Elder of his People, known for many miles for his quiet meditative spirit and knowledge born from countless journeys inward to where the Spirit lived, linked to God and the Ancestors.

His boyhood friend would become the chief of his people. Many would come for his wise council and hear in respectful silence his rulings as he laid down the Law of the Masai. No one had ever challenged him or his law.

Whahnu sighed now, long and deep as only the old can do. Born from the long years of knowledge gleaned from trials that were the fabric of life. The news that the chief was no more, had to be carried to the son. As the eldest of the White Haired Elders and wisest of them all, this responsibility of this clouded task fell on his old and not so steady shoulders.

The first wailing had started the mourning time of the people. Ashes covered those grieving, tears flowed down hot cheeks and babies cried as they joined their mothers in this night of the dead.

Whahnu looked up into the night sky to the stars as they lay before him. Even the full moon in the second might of her passing shone brighter than before. The rising path that was carrying the chief's soul as he made his way to the stars was to be illuminated brightly, as was befitting his high status and deep love of his people.

He raised his old hand to the night sky and waving it slightly from side to side as if to brush away his deep grief like cobwebs strung across a pathway leading to the open fields.

"Goodbye my friend, may Ngai bless you and keep you warm as you dance in the firelight of the moon. May your life be filled with the life giving rains and your fields filled with strong cows as far as you can see." His hand stopped in mid air and fell back to his side.

"Goodbye my friend, I shall watch over your son that he bless your name and bring honour to his people.

A tear now rose in his old eyes, it hovered for just a brief instant before it fell down his quivering face that was strained in grief. Now he spoke softly, whispering the intimate emotions that had risen from his heart and tore at his soul.

"Goodbye my friend - we were as children once, and shall be again"

With a deep sigh, Whahnu rose slowly, his heart heavy carrying the memories that stretched over a lifetime to fulfil the task before him. The night would be long as he trekked to find the son of the fallen chief. This passage made heavier with the news of death and grief.

He called to his own grown children to prepare for his journey. The padded sandaled feet of coming warriors filled the night air, dust rose and mingled with the wailing sounds that were carried on the shifting winds that swept out in the night.

From the thickets surrounding the herd of cows and the outer ring of the village, twinkling eyes watched in silence as men made hurry to their midnight chores. They would wait there watching until the sun cast them back into the recessed shadows. Their silent smiles echoing against the wind as their eyes dimmed to sleep.