Ikan woke as the light of dawn trickled through the tent flap, bringing with it a searing warmth and the promise of arid danger. Its orange-hued radiance strung sharp shadows over the rocky detritus and cracks that suffused the floor, a beautiful composition—but he cared none for that aspect of it. 

"Kiritiri Kamyimyikin ligu kakiriimmyi. Oimlum!" he shouted, voice rousing those of his Niluargao. They swiftly rose to stand, collecting meagre belongings and muttering to one another. Each donned white.

The sun sings its death song. Wake up.

Moments trickled by, the sun encroaching their tented domain more as time carried its course. It was time to go; haven was not going to find them. That was their task.

"Miti knanggung kurka kiritiri, oarsik-ikia saoigia siru, oarsik-ikia saoigia naouit Niluargao," Ikan said. All men, women and children brought their fists to the fore, rapping them against their chests; it was said that Gira Mahioihim resided in the heart, ever-watching, and that tapping a fist to the chest before a perilous journey would bestow his blessings upon one. 

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We bear the wrath of the sun, together as one, together as Niluargao

They streamed from the tent, an orderly line draped in thickly-wrought cloth pale as the Oilin Mother's skin, cold in hue as the chilled night she brung over the land. Oilin fought Kiritiri to a standstill, and with each passing day, they hung in precarious balance, exchanging dominion over the sky.

Ikan looked out, eyes taking in all; light broached the horizon, its vivid orange hues grating on the land. The cold that had settled in its absence vacated, and scouring heat once more ruled. Withered mountains stood jagged, spearing from the arid landscape as if they had died in honour, fighting the battle against Kiritiri all waged. Air warped, shimmering in great columns. It was as usual, but there was something different this day. Something he could not quite pin his finger on, elusive as it was. All truths were this way.