The night had fallen cleanly over the basin, a hard, mineral darkness so deep it seemed to distill the world. Overhead, the usual haze of clouds had been swept away by a dry wind, exposing a cold, brittle vault of stars. The moon, bright and round and indifferent, presided over the village with a certainty that made every hut and path seem briefly, almost unnervingly, eternal. The village lay dormant, its mud-and-wattle dwellings empty, as isomara left their dwellings to gather beneath the ni...