BE LIKE THE WATER (BY BOST, REVISED 2026)

Once upon a time there lived a modest (meek) young man (individual) called Hagen, who wished more than anything, to be an invincible warrior, like the heroes mentioned in ancient fables. He was well over six feet tall, handsome, had grey blue eyes and his straight long blond hair was often kept loose (unbound), cascading down his shoulders.

01- HAGEN

Orphaned at an early age, he lived humbly and all alone in a small wooden cabin at the edge of a vast, dense forest at high altitude (elevation) mountain. He had an adventurous spirit, and he had plenty close encounters with predatory beasts, living in that remote (secluded) region; nevertheless, he often took long walks in the woods to collect medicinal herbs and also, to explore this wild, untamed world around him as he had a deep, innate appreciation of nature.  He rarely had any human company (an occasional hunter), sometimes going for months, without seeing another soul.

His days were spent tending to his small patch of fenced herb garden and he often made repairs to the wooden cabin (dwelling) that kept him safe from the tempestuous weather and the harsh elements. He chopped firewood making sure his supply never dwindled, stacked them by the entrance, then at night, after a plain repast (stew with meat and wild roots and vegetables), he sat by the hearth and read or sometimes carved little animals, fashioning them from small wood block. The finished products were the only adornment he had on his shelves next to the books and some rare rocks.

Once or twice a year, when it necessitated to fetch (buy) some necessary supplies- such as clothing, blankets, tools, sack of flour or millet (corn, oats, sorghum) for making bread, coffee, beans, seeds, and occasionally some dried or preserved fruit and of course, books- he ventured down the mountain and visited the general store in nearby  border  town. As an avid reader, he sought to acquire the adventurous fables and legends that the proprietor, the middle-aged, widowed frontiersman, called Kenneth, knowing Hagen’s passion and having a particular fondness for this honest young man, who never argued about the price, always made sure to reserve in stock the very latest novels (a volume or two) for him.

02- kENNETH - PROPRIETOR OF GENERAL STORE

Hagen made his living, of course, chiefly by hunting wild animals and selling valuable pelts, in exchange for the supplies; his furs of wolves and mountain lions etc., had always fetched good margin of profit for the storekeeper and so, the proprietor looked forward to these rare visits from this remarkable young man.

                                                                                      ~

When Hagen grew up to his early twenties, as a fine young man no longer content living a solitary life in the woods, his soul craved adventure and to see more of the world, but more importantly, he desired to be a competent warrior; and as he was interested in wrestling, he travelled to the farthest edges of the country and after repeated attempts finally got accepted in an illustrious martial school, at an island monastery, where a most famed master was the instructor.

03- ISLAND MONASTERY (2)

Fuelled by his enthusiasm Hagen endured gruelling training sessions to eventually become a competent fighter. Though he was now robust (athletic, muscular) and a proficient warrior, his timid nature nevertheless, still incumbered his progress and prevented him from reaching his true potential. And despite his zeal and daily practices, on those special tournaments held by the schools to measure the initiates ‘progress, at every instance, without fail he persistently got bested by his opponent.

04- TOURNAMENTS  AT THE ISLAND MONASTERY (17)

         

The teacher who would earlier on recognized his true abilities was baffled by this. Suspecting Hagen’s innate impediment, he initiated a private bout with Hagen to evaluate his skill. True enough, Hagen, caught in the momentum of fight defeated his master on the first round. Subsequent bouts all proved to be the same.

You are a like the turtle,” the master told Hagen one day. “But too often you cower under your shell, you need to come out.” and sent Hagen to see his good friend Ingolf, a Zen master at the nearby temple, for help.

“Not a turtle,” Ingolf, the Zen master nodded after hearing Hagen’s account. “You shall be a Sweeping Wave.”

05- ZEN MASTER INGOLF

Ingolf instructed Hagen on the preliminaries of meditation then told him to remain there the rest of the night imagining himself not as a human being who is primarily afraid, not as an adroit warrior (fighter), not anything but a great wave of the oceans.

“Be like the tsunami,” he said to Hagen before retiring to his private chamber. “Imagine your power sweeping, swallowing all and everything in your path. Then all will be well with you.”

                                                                                    ~

Hagen set motionless in darkness for hours contemplating the words of the Zen master Ingolf.

At first his mind would not cooperate with his will, and Hagen wondered about a great many useless things, places, people or past events, anything but the wave. Gradually however, his willpower won over his monkey mind and forced it to focus on the vast sea, volumes of water and then the waves. His mind now was pinned on that single giant wave. It grew larger and larger, washing over the shoreline, uprooting trees, structures, houses, and even the temple he was sitting in. Everything was encompassed by that giant wave. All that could be seen was the ebb and flow of the immense ocean.

06 B -HAGEN  LIKE THE WATER

At the first light of day when the Zen master Ingolf emerged from his room, he found Hagen still meditating at the very spot he had left him, with one difference…He was engulfed in a numinous (mystical)  miasma (mist, fog, cloud) and emanating from it, was the luminescent (glowing) blue light. Hagen’s eyes closed, his face radiant and perfectly serene, his breathing shallow and steady, he was however, from head to toe soaked to the skin, with his garments completely drenched, sticking to his form and revealing his fine physique. He appeared as though he was immersed (swimming or floating) in cool waters of the vast ocean. His gleaming, handsome wet face was framed by the sodden strands of blond hair, as the pearls of water droplets created a shimmering ring of a small puddle at the perimeter floorboards.

The very moment Zen master Ingolf had drawn near and gently (tentatively) placed a hand on Hagen’s shoulder, however, all was transformed back to norm, and Hagen, as well the periphery (the margin) reverted to prior dry state (circumstance).

The corners of master Ingolf’s mouth slightly lifted as he nodded his head; his hand reaching out lightly patted Hagen on the shoulder and he said, “Now you are that invincible wave, go forth and always be thus.”

And true to fact, Hagen from that day forth became an invincible fighter, winning every challenge and tournament. For decades, his fame spread far and wide (everywhere) and he became the undefeated champion of the realm.

 

FIN

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL - SECTION 34

It had been quite a row, a real humdinger of a fight, all right!  He couldn't have been much more than nine or ten, but Tizan was well enough developed for his age to, at long last, hold his own against that brute.  “He had rebelled soon enough, though, hadn't he?”

From the age of seven he had relentlessly fought back each time his stepfather had taken to drink and viciously turned on him. Had his father not died or that his mother did not re-marry, he had always wondered, perhaps things might have been different. 

Tzan had suffered greatly; as far back as he could remember, all through his childhood in fact, with many beatings, constant verbal abuse and endless torment at the hands of his stepfather Zianko. (First mentioned in Book 1 - Fisherman’s Prize- Section 3)

 

01-  ZIANKO

No man could be more vicious to a child.   The vile brute Zianko was a heartless, greedy, selfish dog! Then came the day on which Tzan’d been an eyewitness to Zianko’s murdering his mother. Perhaps the only time she’d stood up to him, fighting desperately to uphold her son’s right to inherit her former husband’s estate. But no one took any notice of Tizan’s claims or accusations, for Zianko had already arranged to make it look like a perfect, irrefutable accident. Shortly after, Tizan had suddenly fallen deadly ill, and very nearly died, but he had recovered, in time to learn, that his stepfather Zianko had been cleared of all charges. Meanwhile secretly from then on, the brute had conspired to murder him (Tizan) before he reached the age of twelve.

On that night, two months before he was to turn twelve, their brawling had reached a peak when that beast Zianko, unable to gain advantage with his hands alone, had taken up an oar and struck a hard, brutal blow at Tizan’s temple, knocking him out cold.  When Tizan regained consciousness in small hours of the night, he'd at once secretly taken off, preferring the unknown dangers of the mountainous forest to certain, slow death at his stepfather Zianko’s hands. Just before he left, he, looking back on the fishing village, had inwardly vowed to someday kill Zianko if he ever came across him again.

 

                                                                                  ~

 

Tizan now looked back out at the spot where the boat had been short time before, his eye catching the first of the mangled wreckage bob up to the surface.  For a moment he imagined that it was his stepfather’s boat and each of the bodies it took to the bottom with it was Zianko, killed repeatedly.  The image gave him little satisfaction, but it was the best he could muster at present. Even after many years of intense loathing, same seething, all-consuming abhorrence of Zianko still coursed through his veins.

“Odd that I'd remember Zianko now,” Tizan turned his attention back to the pitched battle still raging between captain Zunrogo Tugo and Lance Diostin.

“Devils take me!  How could I have frittered away (waste) all that time, with just reminiscing… where’s my good sense?”  His guts were gnawed by self-reproach. 

 

02--TZAN JP

In truth, the squandered time had only been no more than a heartbeat.

Snatching a sword from the nearest corpse and carving a deliberate course, Tizan rushed into the fray, wanting to fight alongside Zunrogo; but the dizzying and intense speed (never once dwindling), skill and agility with which Zunrogo and Lance Diostin fought, interlocked as they were in that kind of a continuous, sound combat, did not afford Tizan least opportunity (opening) to intercede.

Unrelenting, Tizan kept mental notes on Lance Diostin’s unique fighting style and any potential weakness in his offensives as he combatted other foes; all the while, he sought an opportunity to intervene with a well-placed strike at Lance Diostin.

He gradually lost heart when he observed how flawlessly Lance executed his offensives without giving up an inch of his defensive position.  Lance had no failings of any kind.  Though captain Zunrogo was the most competent fighter Tizan had known, Zunrogo was dwarfed in martial skills by his invincible opponent and even was forced into maintaining only a defensive course for much of the time.

Tizan, meanwhile, had soon run out of opponents to fight, and he stood looking about, surrounded by heaps of corpses, for least sign of life for which to extinguish. Disappointed he turned his attention back to the only ongoing action (contesting duo).

“Strange,” Tizan mused, observing how there’d been few instances during which a flaw in Zunrogo's defenses had left an opening, a perfect opportunity for a strike, yet his opponent Lance Diostin had ignored these obvious advantages.

“Oh, he’s so shrewd; adroit that he is, is he just toying with the captain?”

 Tizan inwardly questioned Lance Diostin’s motive, while at the same time with a sinking feeling, grew (became) skeptical of Zunrogo’s ability for the first time ever.  “He’s not invincible after all, is this the mentor I've sworn an unconditional allegiance to?”

Before he could follow up on his doleful, glum (gloomy, woeful) thoughts, the rarest opportunity just then had presented itself.  Lance had for a split second let his guard down, allowing slight vulnerability in his rear.  Fearlessly, Tizan jumped into the fray, recklessly not giving his brain (his senses) apt time to grasp (comprehend, gather) that Lance Diostin might have deliberately and with specific design, slackened off just enough to afford him (Tizan) this rare chance.

"The more the merrier!" warding off both sets of blows, Lance Diostin threw his head back and laughed; he then set to with equal equanimity and deadly precision, simultaneously attacking both Zunrogo and Tizan. 

"For a moment there, I thought that you would turn tail and run, Lieutenant.  Now, at least, I have a more even match.  I wouldn't want to be accused of taking unfair advantage of Captain Zunrogo here.  Oh, let me thank you, sir, for your invaluable service in ridding me of that excess baggage back there…. ha, ha!"

Lance talked and fought with equal ease; meanwhile, Lance Diostin’s fluid, swift maneuvers strained both his opponents’ defensives, their ability to the brink and, at the same time, restricted their corresponding strikes. By all accounts, Lance Diostin wasn't even trying all that hard.

 

03-LANCE DIOSTIN JP 12

Bristling at his arrogance, both Zunrogo and Tizan intensified their efforts and succeeded in, for an instant, turning the battle to the offensive.  Yet, despite their perfectly orchestrated, deadly onslaught, they still could not weaken or best Lance Diostin.

Lance Diostin’s amusement faltered after a while and he picked up momentum, wielding his sword with lightning speed and deadly effect.  He redoubled his offensive strikes with unyielding power, strength and unsurpassed cunning and agility, striking at places where there seemed to be no opening, piercing defenses that appeared flawless.  This intense, pitched fighting continued for a short spell though for Zunrogo and Tizan it seemed to be an eternity.

The two, finding themselves in dire straits, fought on with all their might but were unable to keep their adversary at bay.  They were hanging on only by the skin of their teeth.  Then, while fending off a deadly thrust by Zunrogo, Lance Diostin swiftly twirled and landed a good, swift kick squarely on Tizan's chest.  It was fortunate that Tizan had not discarded his armor, otherwise his ribs, which took the brunt of this attack, would have been instantly pulverized.  Still, the force of the blow was enough to hurl him right across the deck and into the mast, where he slumped down, unconscious.  Tizan was still not out of danger, for Lance had raced to follow his flying body and was at the point of decapitating his helpless form in the next heartbeat.

Zunrogo, putting on an all-out effort, had leapt over to the mast and, in the nick of time, intervened with deadly force to block Lance Diostin’s strike.

 Taking a stance between Lance and the Lieutenant Tzan, Zunrogo hurled curses, dares and taunting assaults while strategically retreating, (to lure) to draw Lance Diostin away from Tizan towards an un-sprung trap further down the deck.  This, Zunrogo perceived, would be his best hope of besting his nemesis.

However, it proved ineffectual.  Lance Diostin was too insightful, too clever to be caught unawares by the deadly snare.  In fact, with an agile maneuver, Lance forced Zunrogo to spring the trap.  Zunrogo escaped, only with a hairsbreadth, as the hurtling blade flew past the side of his neck to land in the river.  Zunrogo had trained himself to never ever consider defeat during a battle and so, he continued to fight in a desperate all-out struggle.

Lance Diostin clearly could have annihilated the captain at any time but, again, he slackened off on his assaults, clearly deriving a particular pleasure from toying with his eventual victim.  "Well, my friend", Lance hissed, "I must thank you for affording me this wonderful practice session.  It is only rarely that I get to use my full skills these days.  You see, once I reach my full potential (ability), my opponents invariably end up dead and, of course, it would be unwise of me to leave any witnesses to circulate reports of my true skill.  Good sparring partners are hard to find, you know.  So, you, sir, may go to your death knowing that your worthless life has, indeed, served some small purpose.”

Zunrogo realized too late how he had been led to mortally (fatally) underestimating Lance Diostin's true prowess.  Had he but known, he could have deployed more powerful reinforcements, adopted more effective means, engaged in diversionary tactics, or considered retreat, to just live to fight another day.

 

04- ZUNROGO AND lANCE DIOSTIN CLOSE COMBAT

As it stood, he was failing miserably.  He knew he had only himself to blame for this grave oversight.  He had been well versed in military strategy and should have perceived the possibility of this deception by Lance Diostin and taken measures to guard against it.  Lance Diostin’s adaptation of the age-old ruse had been flawless and Zunrogo, like the many others who preceded him, had been properly duped, lulled into a false sense of security right up to the very end before being totally, and irrevocably vanquished.

There was no time for self-reproach or remorse.  Just as Zunrogo was about to modify his strategy to one of escape at any cost, Lance launched a whirlwind assault that instantly incapacitated him.  He could feel the world going black as he fought to strike back.

Grinning cruelly, Lance Diostin lifted his magnificent sword high above his head, setting up the one powerful, lightning stroke that would slice through Zunrogo's neck like a harpoon through a jellyfish.  He let go of the stroke, the sword arched through the air in firm descending course, backing it up with all his force.

The blade’s course midway was stopped cold however, never reaching Zunrogo's neck as if it had hit a solid rock; furthermore, the shock wave traveled back up the sword and through Lance Diostin’s whole body.

"What the hell?" glowering, Lance Diostin jumped back and turned to assess the opponent still brandishing the sword that had blocked his fierce, deadly aim (blow).

                                                                                           ~

 

 (END OF SECTION 34)

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL – SECTION 1

01- ZONAR KUNTZU

 Fradel Rurik Korvald (Nevetsecnuac), relentlessly pursuing Mouro Kerr, ascended several flights of stairs that led upwards to the open air.  As he took the next sharp turn, however, he found himself face to face with Zonar Kuntzu, grasping in his left hand, suspended by the hair, the ghastly severed head of Mouro, dripping its blood onto the corpse at his feet.

"I abhor debauched officials, but, even more, I despise devious cowards." Zonar grunted, glowering at Mouro's head before he hurled it into the distance with disdain.

His fiery eyes next riveted on Fradel.  "Our meeting was not ordained for this night," he spoke sternly then, turning his back on Fradel, walked away.

 At that instant, however, Fradel leaped into the air and flipped over Zonar's head to land right before him and block his way.

 Zonar, taken aback slightly, knit his brows, "Are you courting death, sir?" He should actually had called him nephew… but not yet!  Zonar ruminated (brooded, pouted).

Fradel, bowing in respect, begged the warrior's indulgence and asked for Zonar's full name so that he may offer his proper thanks to his benefactor who had, not once but twice, rendered him a valuable service.

Zonar grimaced wryly, "You are too polite sir.  Thanks, are neither warranted nor necessary, since I am only reciprocating a kind turn rendered to me once."

He was about to walk away again when Fradel more persistently barred his way, requesting an introduction and a proper surname.

Checking his annoyance, Zonar glowed.  "And you, sir, are you in turn willing to oblige me by disclosing your true (legitimate) identity?" he asked with icy cynicism.

Taken aback slightly, Nevetsecnuac burrowed his questioning eyes on Zonar.  He hesitated, not wishing to insult (affront) this formidable warrior's intelligence by insisting that he was, indeed, the scholarly poet Fradel Rurik Korvald, yet still consumed with a desire to learn just how much Zonar knew or suspected.

02- FRADEL RURIK KORVALD (NEVETSECNUAC)

"I thought not," Zonar interrupted the suspenseful air.  "To each his own, then,” as he turned his back once more, he added in a thundering voice, "but I thank you for your courtesy; denial at this point would only have incurred my ire.”

Nevetsecnuac had, just then, detected a familiar, slight accent in Zonar's dialect, one not unlike that of the assassin Duan. Quite intrigued, Nevetsecnuac remained ever more reluctant to let Zonar go; feet firmly planted on ground, he stubbornly blocked Zonar’s path as his mind pondered.

 “It has to be more than paranoia, more than a mere fluke that our paths have crossed with such frequency; but what importance does these coincidences entail?”

Nevetsecnuac had first encountered Zonar innocently enough at Aguda and Yagu's Inn but, since then, the strong sense (intuition) of being persistently stalked had both intrigued and troubled him. Possessing incredible prowess, Zonar had appeared and disappeared without a trace at will; in Yenis Luko's room at Kuno Temple, then again at the trial, where he disappeared dramatically in the midst of a crowd after issuing his threat to Micen Do, and his sudden appearance again here. This could not all be mere coincidences; therefore, what was it Zonar really after?  And since Nevetsecnuac could not ascertain the precise timing of Zonar's (appearance) materialization at this last locale, he abstained from theorizing why Zonar had not joined in the fray (combat) earlier on, either for or against him. Zonar’s poignant reference to their impending future meeting, on the other hand, merited probing. With Heng Erling’s treachery still fresh in mind, Nevetsecnuac (forgoing all the conjecture,) glued his gaze on Zonar but this time with a look of askance, wishing to engage him in friendly dialogue, regardless of the consequences.

“Are you done, probing?” Zonar was briefly amused.

"Your persistence, however, is getting rather tiresome." Zonar stared down at Nevetsecnuac. “Unfortunately, I am pressed for time and furthermore, I have no wish to engage in dialogue or fight (test) with you at this point in time. “ Zonar was about to snap his fingers and simply disappear, but then on second thought, he stayed long enough to add: “ I would think that your mind would be beset with more pressing concerns, such as, the whereabouts of Fradel Rurik Korvald's real identity papers. For without them, how could you gain entry to the Capital to ultimately fulfill your destiny?"

 Noting Nevetsecnuac's slight start at the emphasis on the word 'real' he threw his head back and laughed raucously…Then, before Nevetsecnuac could respond, "Oh, here."

 In a flash Zonar produced the envelope from an inner pocket and thrust it into Nevetsecnuac's hand.

03- ZONAR KUNTZU

 "No need to thank me for them, either." he shrugged.  "They were of no use to me, anyway."

Seeing that they were, indeed, the originals and not the forgeries Mouro had spoken of, Nevetsecnuac's heart filled with gratitude, and he looked up at once to thank Zonar and to question him about it.

 He was nowhere to be seen.  Quite mysteriously once more, Zonar had disappeared without a trace into thin air, with not even the slightest sound to alert Nevetsecnuac's keen senses.  Frowning, Nevetsecnuac strained his eyes and scanned the area.

"Don't fret, we'll be meeting again soon enough." the thunderous voice shook the skies, and the subsequent roaring laughter trailed off into the distance.

Nevetsecnuac's entreaties for him to halt, his dares to manifest himself fell on deaf ears so, eventually, he gave up trying and returned to the matters at hand.  Nevetsecnuac clad in more appropriate (armor) travelling attire, first secured Hecun's sword, this along with his scholar's vestments and identity papers in a bundle, Nevetsecnuac fastened them all onto the harness of Mouro's charger (strong cavalry horse). He gave a proper burial to Doctor Sullen and the others then vaulting the mare resumed his journey to the Capital.

                                                                               ~

In the ensuing days and nights, Nevetsecnuac could not shake the feeling of being monitored (watched) by an unseen entity; for intuitively, despite the seeming absence of form, he certainly sensed unearthly presence at every turn. It was like that of Zonar’s aura, a force, and yet not quite the same… This presence was, inured, (callous, desensitized) yet same time more deadly and, it definitely was in pursuit of something or someone, other than him. Nevetsecnuac was just a conduit (channel, means); the phantom hunter (tracker) had intangibly stalked him to attain real prey (target). Nevetsecnuac did not know it, but he had instinctively detected the unseen presence of an immortal, one called Dwengzur; who had been assigned to hunt down and destroy the renegade Immortal before he reached his full potential.

04- NEVETSECNUAC BEING MONITORED BY UNSEEN DWENGZUR

A scant scent of target had led Dwengzur to that spot where the previous battle had taken place. Nevetsecnuac, a sole survivor emerging from the scene, warranted attention and therefore had been pursued; but when the mark (trace, hint), whatever was attached to this mortal had proven false, then one day Nevetsecnuac’s keen sensation of been persistently monitored, had abruptly cessed (terminated, ended).

                                                                                   ~

Several days later, however, the sensation of being observed by an unknown force had again returned, though, this one was not hostile.  Nevertheless, Nevetsecnuac was bit peeved (annoyed, ticked off), that he’d been persistently for some unknown reason was being monitored and audaciously, subtly tested; and so, once after a long, tiring ride, when he halted for respite at the edge of a thick forest, near a flowing creak, he’d shouted his dare into the air:

“If you are fair, face me true, or, try another, more (effective) potent tactic.”

Subsequently, as he waited for a response, (with his senses on high alert,) he’d perfunctorily laid down his bedding under an ancient tree and, after starting a small campfire, his eyes pensively watched the steed graze on the lush grass, then quietly sat down to, for his sustenance, roast the already cleaned and gutted small game (rabbit)  he’d snared earlier on.  

His hunger satiated, after a bout (spell) of reflection, for disappointingly nothing untoward had happening (manifesting): “Oh well,” shrugging his shoulders, Nevetsecnuac briefly looked up at the cloudless sky overhead, which was blanketed with stars that winked incessantly, then donning a knowing, broad smile, he reclined and closed his eyes in sleep.

Suddenly, as if in answer to his earlier challenge, an arrow pierced the air and, finding its mark, got buried deep into the log where Nevetsecnuac had used as his pillow, its shaft barely grazing the tip of his nose.

"You are back; but surely you can do better!" Nevetsecnuac, unperturbed, chortled and, pulling out the arrow, with ease, tossed it aside.

"Don't provoke me, for I can ground your bones to dust with but a single blow."

A terrifying voice boomed (roared) out of the darkness.

"You're welcome to try." Nevetsecnuac masking his inner elation (excitement), with a wry grin goaded presumed Zonar further, eyes still (closed) shut tight.

In a bolder move yet, Nevetsecnuac simply shifted his body to get more comfortable and then yawning, plaintively mumbled.  "I’ve had a long day’s ride but pray do your worst for; as yet, you have shown me nothing of your vaunted might?"

The dare had barely left his lips when, with a deafening, crackling sound, the ancient tree sheltering Nevetsecnuac split right down the middle into two perfect halves. If not for a nimble jump to safety, Nevetsecnuac would have been pulverized under the enormous trunk as it came crashing (in big chunks) to the ground. His mare, as luck would have it, was tethered to another tree opposite and so had escaped the danger.

"How unreasonable, this tree had existed for thousands of years yet perished in a flash." Nevetsecnuac shook his head disapprovingly as he viewed the damage.  "Such is the vanity of man."

05- NEVETSECNUAC DISSAPPOINTED

"You dare mock me?"  Zonar's thundering voice, though he remained invisible still, quaked the ground under Nevetsecnuac's feet, suddenly splitting it wide open, with dislodged soil and rock subsequently plunging (plummeting) into a deep chasm (gorge).

Nevetsecnuac had escaped this catastrophe by nimbly, in the nick of time, jumping to one side of the precipice.  After which, still clinging onto the exposed roots at the edge, he’d hauled himself up to safety. He nonchalantly dusted off his clothes while inwardly marveling at the other's incredible powers.

Unperturbed, he shouted out defiantly, “You had best resign (quit) tonight, for I refuse to oblige your whims any longer.  Sleep is what awaits me now."  This said, he picked out another suitable ground under another ancient tree and reclined his head. Nothing much happened that evening and he slept soundly till dawn.

 

(END OF SECTION 1)                                                                                           ~