Two Eyes Cenote tiburon

heartsick and wearied, the crocodile had slept not an iota. no measure of contemplation had assured him that this was not his fault. it was, and he bent his neck beneath that knowing yoke.

desert doves raised their voices as the captive turned his own upon the listening ear. khusobek stood with his back to the cell, watching the shafts of light grow more beautiful as the sun rose slowly in its morning glory.

sand slipped from his heels, evidence of an early walk when the watches had changed.

"o, Ra. have you come to witness this great hour?"

his smile was neat. kind. relieved. he turned and strode to the prison door, knowing that the thorned vine hung still in shadow. nothing was said; only the observational and detached look of an anatomist rested there upon the father's face.

he too, had his own gift.