January 21 These poor people. We took a break from our normal routine of travel after hearing of the suffering in this small village. A young woman was pleading with the elders in the last village, begging them for aide in performing the "rangataan", or summoning. Finally one agreed, a craigy man, tall, his ceremonial garb making an elegant figure of the savage form.. who had lived in that village as a child. Out of curiousity, and the hope to offer some assistance we gained permission to join the elder on his journey. But nothing prepared us for the total devastation that greeted our eyes upon our arrival. Death... everywhere. The ground was dry and cracked, the plants dusty and crumbling. Not a drop of water to be seen, and the people were emaciated, dying from the lack of that vital fluid. Their need was clear... but the answer was not. A hush grew over the village as the elder stood forward, took in the sight of the village's plight... the small bodies of the children struggling to survive in the heat, the trusting gaze in the eyes of their parents... It was clear, this was to be no simple ritual. I only wish that we had been warned. The man's arms flung out wide, and he cried out a tortured scream, a plea to the heavens to see the need of his people... And was answered. A low rumble was the only sign, then the sky was ripped open by a lance of lightening slamming down into the shaman, silhouetting him in his pose of total surender to the gods of the sky. A shriek filled the air, the bolt twisted and fought the man, writhed where it was tethered to his body, caught in it's journey from the sky. Not a sound from the people. Not a word. They stood and watched the battle with the thunder god, and said nothing. Full silence fell as the bolt was released, the shaman's burnt and smoking body fell towards the ground... but no eyes were on his passing. The rumbling had started again, the horizon filled with clouds, and the answer to their prayers stepped forward from the plains. Graceful and slow, the lovely creature paced forwards, and paused before the fallen man. It's strips curved around it's face, down it's body like dark and light reflections of the bolt that had summoned it. A curved, wicked looking horn protruded from that noble brow, and the mild black eyes that cast down on the man's form were filled with sorrow. And then the heavens broke forth. Blessed rain followed in the sacred creature's footsteps. Answering the plea of the man for his village... And weeping for his death.