amongst the zanthorrea, lines in the sand drawn with a branch by a dark hand, he shows creation myths and stories from the dream time, and the children look and dance around in their animal totems, emu and the rainbow serpent, earth music plays, didge and sticks beating out a clickity clack in the moonlight, music for the bones, penetrated flesh, penetrated time, penetrated thought.

something's in the air.
an old woman with a road mapped face, white eyes glaring out from black weathered face, through the flame, the woman is in trance, she has a bag of bones and feathers from several birds.
when the music stops she pulls out the feathers from the bag one after another and places them in sand upright, all within some sort of circle she has drawn, she takes the bones and throws them into the night skies, up up up they fly, with the big moon and stars, until gravity calls them back and some land within the boundaries of the circle others without. the music stops, the chanting stops, a suddenly silence, like a dagger rips through the night, drawing down the moon, all eyes watch the woman and wait for her to speak.
she blesses the land, the four corners as far as the oceans, the mountain tops, the dead lands, and the land of the machines, she blows over her fists and reveals the truth stones. everyone gasps, wowed by their mysterious blackness, the way they suck in all available light, drawing everything to their centre, so dark and void, darkness visible.
the chanting starts but no one knows how, lips don't move, the old woman sings with the voice of a chorus, she says the power words and then they fade away and she speaks,
'truth stones, tell no lies, truth bones reveal the way, ancestors, spirits whom inhabit the void, bless us and keep us and show us the way forwards, anoint us with love and the radiance of lights understanding, we ask guidance in this age of doubt, we seek the signal of wisdom from the white noise of the times. we have been blessed by the sages who represent each epoch but the epoch is ended and a starts a new, and we ask for your blessing.'
she scans the patterns and reads the signs, chanting and mumbling waving her hands, strange secret incantations, her face concentrating hard on something indeterminate. a slight breeze blows her hair back, everyone holds their breath as she slowly gazes out into the darkness, eyes penetrating deeply.
she takes the stick and points it out into the night, 'it comes.'
there is something there, walking towards them, the shape of the large man, before they see his outlined against the darkness and flame, against the stars, the moon and the ghosts of ancients, from the dreamtimes, from valhalla and atlantis, from the anteries seven system beyond, it's black odin, a god for all seasons, the truth stones never lie.