elow, in the depths of the lower-territories, the Sangoma stirs. In the red glow of her sanctuary, she twists as the braids of her hair snake around her entire body.
Stopping abruptly, she places her both her hands on the glass of her chamber and looks directly into the eyes of the one who watches her. He does not move, nor make a sound.
Sundiata, Fifth Conscience of The Great Divide, she whispers in his thoughts, the beginning of the end is finally upon you.
Sundiata nods his head as he stares into her eyes. “War”, he says. Barely heard by his own ears.
The Sangoma floats away from the glass, once again enveloped by her hair.