The diviner of truth held his palms skyward and studied the faces of the tribe. All made eye contact and did not blink for fear of being thought the liar.Tears flowed from some as they held their gaze. The diviner looked angry and dropped his arms to his sides, Then a fearful and frightened expression replaced the one of anger. He began to cry and then looked up for signs of mercy. There were none. The diviner was the liar.The tribe stooped and picked up rocks and charred wood to kill the deceiver.The diviner screamed and wept.

A damp place smelling of mold and straw. Mice moved about freely running over my arms, hands and face. I could not move or even blink my eyes. Voices below me whispered my name and laughed. Where was I? Why could I not move or speak? God help me. A barn loft? Smaller things tickle my tongue. The bodies belonging to the voices are climbing up toward me. Still laughing. I can see two men pushing onto the lofts oaken planks. He’s dead alright. The smell. Should have planted him sooner. More laughter as I’m lifted. Stiff and helpless.Dead.