His eyes were filled with light. He saw the sky and the kite. He twirled the string in his fingers, and the kite passed the sun. It flew further and further as he let the string unravel in his hands. He waved it through the orange sun, and the kite glowed a bit as he let it drop. Then he let it rise, then drop, then rise. He sat down, and the grass covered him with green stalks. He let the wind blow over him...
An ivory statue of himself, standing, with youthful features. It eclipsed the sun, and he saw it bend and lean with the wind. No features, he could recognize, but he knew it was ivory.... Yes... Yes... He knew...
Now, the Prophet, splitting, then light flashing into his eyes. He closed his eyes, then opened them.
He woke up...
They continued in the morning after eating loaves of bread for breakfast. The Book Of Stories lay in his bag, as did the piece of paper, and all of the vials bounced off each other. He continued to walk along with them, listening to Osmond talk. Bernard stopped sometimes, but continued on, holding Galtrand and Gotund, concentrating on magic, trying to improve himself.
They stepped in bogs, and trudged through marshes, and reached a hillside in the middle of the day, and as the sun approached the top of the sky, they stopped. Osmond stared at what stood ahead.
David glanced at the sight, and sat down.
In front of them, a temple lay underneath the brushing leaves. The wind swept dust past them. Birds perched and watched them. The stone lay untended as weeds pushed marble apart. The sheen had long gone, now old and tired.
Osmond opened a notebook, flipping past it, then drawing it. Protennessen's head covered the floor, and the Prophet engulfed the ceiling. Once a Laphanist temple, now a Prophenist one. A Prophenist one!
"The Prophenists again...", David muttered.
"A Laphanist temple, I can see. The ugly god Protennessen with a face of discontent. Horrible, horrible Protennessen", nodded Osmond.
"Yes, like the Abysian cults, and Salugren and Salgon.", Bernard looked upon the temple with distaste, stepping away from the viney temple.
"Protennessen?", David pulled at his beard, "Protennessen, Protennessen, Protennessen?"
"Yes, horrible, horrible Protennessen", nodded Osmond.
"Why Protennessen...", David paused, remembering the Laphanists. All covered in mud and dirt. People yelling and shouting. None loved the Laphanists, none loved the Men Of Deer...
"Yes?", asked Osmond.
"I mean... I meant to say..."
He looked upon Protennessen, who stared at the sky... Osmond was shaking his head, Bernard frowned, and Darrell was wiping away the mosaic tiles.... They all hated Laphanists... As with the rest of the world... But he'd liked Laphanists with the Men Of Deer... He remembered fond memories...
"David?", said Bernard.
"I meant... I was saying about...",He looked upon the ruins, and David pulled at his beard
A lost age, and a lost time. Yesterday, he'd been part of Laphanists. Yesterday, he'd accepted something past the Prophet...But no more... They could never survive in the modern age... Prophenists, with the glowing Prophet.... Hope stood near him now... Now...
He looked at Protennessen's face for one last time. He gazed for a while, remembering the festivities and worships of Laphanism again. He remembered those memories of riding horses, dancing, and smiling...
David turned away, loosened his hand from his heard... No... No.... No... It would never happen... Not Protennessen... Not such a god...
"No, never mind. It was an impulsive thought...."
David shook his head, and loosened the grip from his beard.
"Yes... An impulsive thought, it was..."
"Right, let's go forward then", Osmond nodded.
"C'mon", Bernard said , "The Prophet awaits, I can see his figure. Past those trees, do you see him?"
"I see the sun and the clouds", Osmond squinted, trying to see past the sky, "I can see... Nothing but sun and clouds, where is the Prophet?"
"The top of Pnoaphales, of course."
Osmond coughed, "You say Pnoaphales, yes?"
"Yes... I can see that silhouette of his, and a glowing light."
"I see the sun..."
"Maybe, you don't look hard enough"
"I thought we were looking for Denton", Osmond eye's squinted.
"He's someplace near", Bernard nodded, "But, focus on the Prophet..."
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