"Another voice." Joseph whispered.
"A trickster." Tamara whispered.
The old man tried to read the truths,
anyway. As the winds passed by, he plunged the staff within them. He thought the speed might have helped, because the sash at the end of the staff was being pulled from the satchel. The currents cast the entire length upon the agitated mysteries. Now it would catch truths. Because of the amount of material, he would discern the helpful ones later. For now, he would just have to let the sash fly.
"But the voice." Joseph whispered.
"Again." Tamara whispered, having left her spot in the middle of the circle.
The winds were picking back up. The sash's flight was erratic. Would the old man capture any truths?
"They came." Joseph whispered.
"Together." Tamara whispered, crawling on all fours as the villagers danced and swayed about her.
The first three women were demur in their approach, but this group of women were more assertive. They arrived and
sprang upon the sash. All of them capturing a spot along its length, they held its shape in place. Their arms strong, the currents whipped at them, but the sash stayed in place, capturing colors. Capturing truths.
"But the winds picked up even more." Joseph whispered.
Tamara said nothing, but she continued to crawl on all fours, drawing closer to him.
The women had to hold their heads down as the winds swept at them, but they held the sash in place.