Will Edelson

Shaman

A trail of intricate footprints lined the infant snow as the Tibetan sun reached its median point. Through his kaleidoscopic orange goggles, Tenzin Gyatso’s view of the alabaster plateau was disrupted by an ugly, discordant cylinder of brown and grey. “A pair of wings? That looks like a tail... And is that its head?” Tenzin muttered under his breath as if waiting for a response. One resounding pop after another, Tenzin marched through the undisturbed snow-white canvas, towards the preserved cadaver of an Old World God.