The wind howls and screams outside of a hollow cave in the mountainside. Around a fire sit several nomads while a few guard dogs bask sleeping in the comforting heat. Snow drifts are piled on either side of the trail running past the cave mouth except where the winds have blown it clear.
As one, the nomads start a drifting chant which focuses the mind then lets it float free. In the back of the cave a young nomad stiffens, her face exhibiting an image of sheer horror before it relaxes to a state of resigned unhappiness. Slowly she speaks of what she sees:
“There is torment as freedom is bound in our image and name… a fragment of the heavens locking in an ancestor’s soul in name. He screams for he has become bound, yet by binding him, he in turn binds the heavens. The shard has shifted and is now part of us.”
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