Like Tom, the hyena could be seen, soon lapping up the traces of
the morning's spoils, ingesting the sweet carrion through its
lulling glands, along the track it follows. Tom absorbed the air of
the explorers -- Sucked it down, ingested it. Until he was but a
fractured remnant of the Western world -- Still part Africa, not
yet civil, holy. He had no real home, not any more, yet he followed
a dream, that will of an apparition; dream of a man with a raised
and pointed spear. "That other life is not for you , Tom. " "Here
you might breathe..." the warm alcohol releases fears and dreams. "
...If you must breathe at all" ...
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