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The little boy hid himself where people thought only snakes and scorpions hid. The rotten leaves and itchy tentacles of bushes attacked him on each day of his ‘class’.
After three months, he was happy. The little boy of five did not think he’d mastered the art of Chenda. But he was happy for making the attempt and learning what he thought, was sublime music.
The priest, a person with no gifts of necromancy or supernatural eavesdropping on the unknown, with a slight itch in his eyes, realized that the boy was committing the error of disobedience.
Second chance was not in the priest’s dictionary. He summoned the traitor of the temple. He got the boy down on his knees on a layer of crystal salt on the hard surface of the temple porch. The salt crystals seared through the skin on his knees, but the boy did not cry.