67The canyon was it's usual scene, devoid of life except for the vines on the white-half of the figure. They bloomed in riotous color as always.
It was a scene the Prefect hadn't seen before. At the thunder, he looked up. The overcast skies were becoming thicker and lightning was flashing from peak to peak. They were painted orange, an unnatural hue which reflected into the canyon.
The prefect looked back at the odd figure and started to move toward it.
Suddenly, his path was blocked by a crouching witch-doctor, who rattled his gourds at him and started chanting in no known language or cadence. He punctuated these with infrequent screams and threatening gestures toward the prefect, who was finding himself backing up, away from this wild-acting native.
As he got to a certain distance, t
