Beneath the twisted branches of a sacred cedar tree, Ippip lie staring at the sky.

"Unbelievable!" He says to himself, sitting up.

"Zorast may well have been correct. Curse me for doubting his drunken ramblings." Rising to his feet, Ippip brushes the grass from his shizet.

"This sort of thing only happens once in a lifetime. Perhaps twice. But certainly no more than three times. I must tell someone of this. And fast!" A sense of urgency wells inside the little seer. There is no time to waste. He knows exactly what must be done. His mind is awhirl as he sets the intricate details in order.

The Kash Bowl's courtyard is quiet at this time of night, except for the soothing cascade of the fountain. But hearing that sound stops Ippip in his tracks. He spins to face the fountain, and scratches his chin. First glancing to the left, then to the right, he heeds the call of another urging brought on by too much date wine and the gentle tinkle of water.

...... . . .