Inside a canyon at dusk, the final ambient mild practically gone. A single match flame held in two cupped palms — one in every of the Twins — the glow catching the wall’s carved petroglyphs: spirals, birds, previous sign marks. The opposite Twin is barely seen behind, watching. Past the slim canyon opening, the sky is just not absolutely darkish — an electrical blue-gray, the hour simply previous the final breath of nightfall. No stars but. Simply the match, the stone, and the petroglyphs lit briefly from beneath.
