Cathelia is walking on the long road. All is the desert around, she is bared feet, naked neck, and wading across this land. Going ahead. Going back. Going to the Water of Life.
Cathelia, Catherlia, walking on the desert of land. She is having her period, blood dropped into the arid sand; all drunken. The toe cap worn, no longer incisive and bright, it loses the direction pointed her way of next.
Is it the Water of Life? I cried.
“It is the Water of Life!”, Cathelia cried.
