"A flash of lightening." Joseph whispered.
"A surprise to everyone." Tamara whispered, still crawling, closing in on him. She knew he couldn't see her. His eyes were trained ahead, unblinking, catching the colors that flashed through his vision.
The winds jumped upward, yanking the sash away from the women. The sudden change in direction caused some to fall
backward. The few still standing tried to grab the sash before it was out of reach, but it rose too fast.
The old man tried to stand his ground while holding onto his staff. The mysteries rose and tumbled backward, only to rush forward. Almost like they meant to threaten the old man, but he wasn't standing along the edge where mysteries liked to be. He was just outside the edge, so the mysteries jumped upward again. Eventually, they tumbled backward to repeat the process over.
The three women who meant to calm the mysteries now surrounded the old man, using their bodies to brace him. The
group of women rushed to place themselves in the little space between the old man and the edge. Sitting down in a row, they placed their backs to the mysteries. Each cycle brushed against them, but they had curled their arms through each other's, creating a brace.
This was a relief for the old man and the three women supporting him. At first, he was having to close his eyes against the gusts. Now, he casted his gaze upward, watching truths soaking the fabric of the sash.
Still standing in his spot inside the circle, the old man knelt down. Letting his staff rest against his left shoulder, he grabbed the sash and pulled it toward him. Next, he used his other hand to grab further down the length and pulled the sash toward him again. As he did this, he extended his first hand still holding the section of fabric, placing it underneath the rest of the length still stretching out toward the edge of the circle and beyond. He repeated this winding motion, retracting the sash from down the path. There were moments when one of the women dancing about the circle would step upon the sash. He would pause his winding those times.
"Imprints." Joseph whispered.
"Truths." Tamara whispered, her breath brushing at his face.
Even though the mysteries were erratic, they couldn't stop the truths within them to strike against the sash, leaving their shapes and patterns. Seeing this, the old man smiled, despite the situation. Yet, he still wondered where the disruption was hiding even now.
For he knew who it was that had spooked the mysteries.
"Calarapan." Joseph whispered.
"Best him." Tamara whispered, her nose touching his.