Descending Road - THE SINGER STANDS WITNESS by Dana W. Paxson

THE SINGER STANDS WITNESS

1529 4D

I watch sadly. Jeddin‘s pain has no expression, no ear to hear it except mine, and I can do nothing, not now. The one feeding on his body finishes, and rises away through innerspace. Its own andro host-body returns to the waiting door of the ship, deep in the City, its polyphonic voices weaving pretty, sated patterns.

I keep silence, avoid the feeder’s bright searching gaze. When the Zashinhalh forget their flesh playthings in the dirt worlds, they hunt for me, and play with the gems of my songs, like the blue stone the andro stole.

I am the kharshfainh, and my melody entrances them.

I am the Singer.

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	THE SINGER STANDS WITNESS 1529 4D I watch sadly. Jeddin‘s pain has no expression, no ear to hear it except mine, and I can do nothing, not now. The one feeding on his body finishes, and rises away through innerspace. Its own andro host-body returns to the waiting door of the ship, deep in the City, its polyphonic voices weaving pretty, sated patterns. I keep silence, avoid the feeder’s bright searching gaze. When the Zashinhalh forget their flesh playthings in the dirt worlds, they hunt for me, and play with the gems of my songs, like the blue stone the andro stole. I am the kharshfainh, and my melody entrances them. I am the Singer.