“The poet woman took a small road to the rear of the empty lot, then trudged on without looking back. Gradually her footsteps grew swifter. She headed straight to the heart of the darkness, which lacked even a single point of light, and where not even the road beneath her feet could be seen. Like a blind owl, she walked as one with the darkness, undisturbed by it. The sight called up in Buha simultaneous awe and fear. The barking of dogs drew closer. It occurred to Buha that pursuing the poet woman any further might result in needless terror and agitation, for her or else for himself. That was not what Buha wanted. He did not want the poet woman to turn around, having sensed a human presence. He didn’t want her to see him. He didn’t want her to know him. And so he stood, rooted to the spot. The woman’s shadow was swiftly swallowed up into the abyss of darkness.”

—Narrator