Every morning he waited, looking to the sky. Every morning was the same, a tradition, a ritual. Slowly the sun bathed
the sky in reds and golds and soon it spread out across the land, sending night-dwellers to their dens and rousing
the creatures of the day into groggy awareness. Yet, his eyes were always open at this time, always watching the sky.
The sun lit the earth and so lit his eyes and his soul and his heart in ritual.
As it always did. As it always would.
And he was awake.