Susanne

Neville cradled the stone idol flecked with shiny metals. He divined an ancient presence and a jostle of rapt devotees. His pulse quicken in synchronicity with the old blood. Gazing into the pit eyes, he sought redemption from wandering. He might settle somewhere, bring the desert with him to another place, but out of the wind. Neville paid the tribesman; the paper bills flapped like little birds.