In front of me lay a dark and undulating land lit by the icy power of a full moon. There were no clouds in the night sky but there was a strong wind that came from invisible origins and ruffled my hair till it was blowing behind me like a flag. I was in bare feet, just inches from falling into the shadowy canyons below. My arms were outspread like a young condor about to take its first flight. “The truth is in the fire,” a voice whispered from behind me. I dropped my arms to the side and slowly turned around. I was facing a fire that smoldered and crackled high in the star-lit sky. Around it sat two people in high-backed chairs. On one side was a man dressed in denim overalls, on the other was a woman in a black dress. They had deer heads poking out of their collars, watching me with those blank, liquid eyes. “Look in the fire,” one of them said, though their deer mouths didn’t move. I looked at the fire. It swirled and flowed like a red river of flame. In the base of the fire, where the logs burned and cracked, the ashy black kindling moved.
