Silver Moraine sky hand

Unknown to Anselm, a barter was being exchanged for his very life. He slouched as Yikaas worked the worrisome line of his skull; his senses passing in and out of focus like the dying orbit of a displaced planet. 

For several seconds his eyes found the concentrated, hard expression of his savior-captor. The distant memory of his children came to the surface of his mind, but their faces were blurred as if held under the murkwater surface of a lagoon. He grasped for his waning consciousness and felt it pass through him like a sieve. 

The last thing he heard was Yikaas’ gravelly laugh, if it could be called that.