Instead of jewels, Shyan finds Master Davit. He’s alive and well, a beatific smile upon his lined face. He gestures for her to assume the stance, and she does so gracefully, without word.
Emotions and mistrust war behind her eyes but incontrovertibly, Davit is before her in a warm pool of light.
They go through the warmup motions together, and Shyan feels light, loose, ready to spar.
The voices of her companions have fallen silent. She no longer hears the grind of stone, the creaky voice, the ominous knocking. All is right in the dark.
still I must live through it
gathering all of my
pushing on into
an uncertain future
neck feeling awfully
Many things move in the dark, slipping through the undercurrents of unconciousness. Squirming silhouettes and wriggling sparkles undulate behind the stone door.
The knocking is no more: the voice, the light. Riches swallowed by the night.
The dark is so intense it swallows sound and touch. The gang reaches out for one another, calls out for one another, begs the black to give up the ghost.
What they want is here, what they know is not.
on the loose
or a caboose to store it in
this is truth:
too obtuse to start again