Standing inside the shadow of the dying gum tree, Gadje counted the curses. There must be one for every misshapen god Ashtong’s coffins had offended and the train of coffins was long. Very long.
Brittle bone prayers swayed, clicking in the crisp breeze that broke through the branches of gum forest everywhere but where Gadje stood. He only had to toss some bone dust into the wind and mumble his request to make the wind god understand, they had worked around each other for many years. Crushing the shards of broken prayers in his palm, Gadje refilled the stiff gator sack as the coffin train was long and there would be many curses to make. He chanted slowly to keep the wind at bay.
"The Bone Train,"
The Tuxedo Archives: Vol. 2013
, Article 25.
Available at: https://scholar.dominican.edu/tuxedolit/vol2013/iss2/25