The ribbons are yellow and golden, hanging from hooks on a market stall. I take them one by one, slipping them into my bag.
But then I hesitate: these are not my golden ribbons at all.
They belong on the display.
Why would I have gone off with them secreted from the world? ...
... A warrior's shoulder fills my vision. Skin and fur clad - some medium-sized wild cat, I think.
My vision pulls away to reveal thousands of warriors, spears to hand, advancing in one direction across the veld. ....
... Before falling asleep, I had asked the sacred question: Who has lived on this land before me?
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