One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 16, page 5

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Zhíno Zhudıro watched the swirling colors draw near and recede in the blackness. There was not much else for him to do.

Had he successfully communicated with Fírí? It had seemed like they’d had a conversation, but perhaps he had merely imagined it. She’d been her normal obstinate, Viti-tiwn self, that was for sure. Hopefully she was sincere in accepting his apology.

The purple light that was Pí‘oro approached Zhíno. The light seemed stronger--zippier--than before, as if the old man was energized and excited about something. Zhíno considered diving into the violet storm to attempt a conversation. If something exciting was happening, Zhíno wanted to know about it. This black void grew duller by the minute.

Zhíno zoomed toward Pí‘oro’s purple light, but the swirl receded. What the plagues? Is the old man avoiding me?

He accelerated, but the light dwindled away, leaving Zhíno alone in a featureless, colorless, everythingless void.

Plague of Ríhíví. Now what?

Nothing. He was surrounded by absolute nothing. The seconds and minutes dragged into eternity.

The colored lights had been boring at the time, but now they seemed as thrilling as galloping with the buffalo had been. If only he hadn’t given part of his lifeforce to Pí‘oro, he could still be cavorting through the worlds with the animal spirits.

Not now, though.

Now, he was utterly alone.

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