Beyond the magma river, the snow sphinxes sized up the outcasts.

Pulsing throats,

sharper minds,

vast lungs; yet soft and meek.

They offered to gather sticks,

in return for their dignity.

“Learn to control the fire first,” the oldest snow leopard decreed.

Then they moved on; these sleek masters had higher standards and better things to do.

Their preferred meal has a more digestible ethos.

And beyond this magma river, there were no clocks or credit cards;

just nervous pulses and empty winds.

A place where currency was useless,

and yellow eyes were revered.