The sky is red here inside the church, inside the caverns, inside the valley. We sit and stare up at the sunless heavens, bathing in vermilion and watching strange shadows on the walls watch us right back. There is an uneasy truce that we don't talk about, there is a history that we don't teach and battles we won't name.
The sky is red as it peers through jagged cracks where the caverns once had a ceiling and gleaming against the drenched walls. The source comes from somewhere deep below, deeper than the homes of the strange shadows, deeper than any human has ever gone to and returned from. We miss them and leave them as nameless as the old wars they fought.
The sky is red and we are all the more glad for it. We are surrounded by the uncaring warmth of a goliath being far beyond such petty concepts as gender and personhood. It does not know we exist and we are all the more safe for it, like bacteria on the foot of an elephant we thrive in its ignorance and pray the rains don't come.
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