It was early spring when Sala came to the Sanctum, fleeing herself and her house in the human settlement. Her friends called it a location cure, doubting that leaving a house would rid one’s mind of pain. And of course they were right, though they did little to discourage her. The reservation known as Sanctum was a refuge for all.
Yuye remembers that Sala came into the Welcome House with her big box of freshly-printed codices, a cloth band around her neck made from Gordon silk and an anger so huge it was like a wide-mouthed Salixeum closing for a kill. She had brought an extra pair of shoes and a bandage kit and an image of her late mother bound in a faux bone frame.
Sala remembers how the PackHorse engine had coughed ever so delicately just before it quit. Desert rats had made a home among the wheel parts during all the days she had paced in her house refusing to go anywhere. The warm engine had invited them further in and they had died and choked it beyond repair. It mattered little. Once inside Sanctum, machinery would be useless. Still, she was glad that the old PackHorse, one of the oldest vehicles in the settlement, had lasted long enough.
Sala remembers entering the door of the Welcome House dragging her big box of possessions on a sled. The empty whiteness of the room, the golden man standing before her are rich and vivid in her mind.
______
No comments:
Post a Comment