"And what, pray tell, did the men here do?"
"They gathered wood here- and there, and there as well. They used these here plants to build a fire. I don't rightly recall the title of this particular cultivar of shrubbery, but it has quite a distinct and melodious fragrance. They then made some kind of plant-oriented stew in an old iron pot."
"Really? With all these little hoppy hares bounding about? What did they cook?
"Alot of very bitter cactus."
Using a tin cup, the peculiar pair crudely recreate the ritual, almost unconsciously tracing the lines of the ceremony. It was a brilliant echo that didn't quite happen as they half danced the steps of ghosts past, brutally chopping the low cacti preagnant with valuable water. Substrate life beating with luminous power.
The humors of the desert turn. The pair stagger about the mesa like curious drunks. Skies shift their hues and dragonflies leave incandescent trails traced in prisms of gossamer. Cactus twist and lurch like murderous curmudgeons.
Skin grows taut, eyes turn dry. Our hero's lips crack but do not blister. Skin flakes off- he watches, pulls it away with cold and curious horror. His features slacken and he removes his hat, here we see much of his hair has fallen out, his form is ashen, a slight silhouette betraying flecks of stripes composed of many diamonds. -The suit not the rock.
The countenance of his companion is shifty, gleefully feral. Much of his weight has shifted. His narrow waist and broad shoulders, once handsome, are now grotesque in proportions. His facial growing long and rippling wildly. Horns have begun to breech the surface beneath his scalp. His bearing is at once noble, fierce and mad. Like a bezerker king now wandered too far from his legends. Glory draped in hideous.
Our hero aknowledges the pressure of the gaze of his companion. He goes to speak, and finds all his attempt futilly abort in his throat, terminating in short, clicking sounds. His companion looks alarmed at first. "That's funny, haha Pitt, you damn clown! You always know what to say!".
Frustrated. "OK stop it now, go ahead gather yourself, say something goddammit".
Then enraged. "SPEAK NOW!".
He stops. Composes himself, clearly shaken. "Find your words now, say one word any word. You're a man right? And men speak, they speak, don't they? Tell me a word."
Our hero won't turn to look at his companion, the brim of his hat obstructing his view. "I know a word that'll send a horse jumping. It arises in my chest when I get scared. And I can say it loud and I can say it quiet. When any man hears this word, they sieze up, go dumb as a lamb and still as a statue. Do you want to hear me say my word, friend?"
The countenance of our hero turns venemous, and when he looks up, we see his gaze, hollow as a rattlesnake.