CONCLAVE of assembly, the council to which the Solitary Elder never comes. He appeareth where the old buttes stand gathered on the desert floor, gold-faced and patient beneath a sky darkened nearly to night, the pale ground between them strewn with the gilded scrub of the dry country. His office is to hold the moot of the elders: they have stood within sight of one another for ages of the world, conferring at the pace of stone, and no question put to them has yet been answered or abandoned. Their brother keeps his lone seat beyond the horizon, and is spoken of, never to. What the council debates no one knows; but the sky leans close to listen, and has gone dark with waiting.
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