Sometimes, their battle stopped. A small pause in the endless noise of steel striking against horns and the scarlet blooms in the aftermath. During these moments, Hadjar would sit on the stones and look into the buffalo’s eyes intently.
He couldn’t look away. The few times he turned away from the buffalo, he always saw the same thing — the black, frightening horizon filled with storms and hurricanes — but then it would immediately be obstructed by the buffalo.
If Hadjar was tired, the monster was tired as well. If Hadjar was ready to fight, the monster was ready as well.
It was like a dance. A dance of the rocky shore and restless water. The water would beat against the stones, trying to make it farther inland to something new and unknown. The stones withstood even the most violent of i
