Shirisha nearly lost her balance several times as her momentum carried her downward over the slick, snowy ground, feeling the warmth in the air grow gradually greater as with the voices surrounding it. Dashing into the circle with the great flame, drums, and dancing, she shouted,

"Abhinatha has come!"

The response was immediate, people ceasing what they were doing, moving quickly but orderly. She heard the surprised discussion of the elders about how the serpent had come early, coming on previous years a whole hour later. Several children had climbed up the slope on which she previously stood, looking on with excitement and awe at Abhinatha, who was now coiling its hulking mass ever skyward up the first mountain.

Several minutes later and the children were coaxed back to the circle, minds still clearly jittering with excitement. The rest of the people had now started to form two long lines, starting at the bonfire and continuing down either side of the central path, kneeling and facing inwards towards each other. Families knelt side by side, some children bearing the same contention of the adults who had done it for years, and some others fidgeting from staying in one place. All of this was done in the same orderly and practiced manner, the way tradition had established for hundreds of generations, and for thousands of years.

Through the crowd that was quickly filing into the two lines, Shirisha met eyes with Bhavaroopa and they exchanged a look of knowing. Wordlessly, they went together to a small area behind a tree off to the left of the circle. On the thin layer of snow were three wide wooden squares, sticks and bark lashed together to create platforms. On all of these were the sacred lanterns constructed by them earlier.

Working silently together, they lifted each side and carried them out to where the lines of kneeling people began, one by one. Shirisha tended to one line and Bhavaroopa the other, passing them the lanterns, who would then pass it to the one next to them, down the line until everyone had a lantern cupped gently in their hands.

Shirisha then held the old woman's hand as they walked down the path, taking their place in the two lines, kneeling opposite each other. There was only one still standing now in the village, which was silent aside from the steady grinding of a massive serpentine body curving around mountains in their direction. It was Udgam, and gripped in his hands was the Kindling Arm. This was the most sacred thing their people had, hundreds of years old and vital to this tradition of gracing Abhinatha. It was a long, beautifully carved wooden piece engraved with flowers and animals, a small basin at the end of it encircled by wooden "fingers" that held a small flame. All could see the effects of age on his body, moving slower and more tedious by the year. Still, with the same dutiful face he always bore, alighted the hand on the Kindling Arm. He turned, and the first person in one line bowed their head and held up their lantern. Steadily, from the middle of the path the old man held the burning hand beneath it, and the lantern was lit. The small flame within could be seen dancing with its light, moving a little less vigorously than the great bonfire as it was protected from the wind. Udgam slowly swung the arm around him from the same position on the path, and lit the lantern of the person on the opposite side. He continued for minutes on end, slowly walking straight down the path, swinging and lighting a longer and longer row of lanterns, all the while Abhinatha's movement filled more and more of the atmosphere.

When at last he finished, lighting the lanterns held in the hands of their makers, He knelt down between those final two, facing inwards with the Kindling Arm propped against his knee, still burning.

Shirisha looked around at the silent faces that all now reflected their own light. On these faces she saw many emotions, faces of joy, grief, relief, fatigue, and hope. Still, among all these faces, there was no Sang.

Still, with all but one, the people of the village together formed a massive torch, a flame for each soul and a fiery blaze for their community. All together, hearts connected, one spirit, reaching out for an entity, a mystical being which extended its long colossal body toward their mountain and towards the light. Shirisha's feelings were interrupted when some twenty feet above the bonfire a tongue the length of six full grown men shot into her peripheral vision, thick as a small log. It split gradually into two forks, which just barely avoided touching the house of the elders before being silently retracted. She followed it with her eyes, as did many, and there was Abhinatha's head.

No matter how old anyone was, or how many times they had seen Abhinatha, the sight of such a being was breathtaking. Looking around Shirisha saw wide eyes, except for Udgam who smiled warmly as if seeing an old friend.

Its head was as broad as the central path and long as the width of the circle, scales hard and pointed, layered like endless rows of bronze-beige teeth. It turned its massive head, the light of the bonfire reflecting over the scales, looking down across the people on kneeled on the path with one eye. An eye with a single diamond slit, black as a cavern, surrounded by stringed shapes that formed gorgeous ragged rivers of gold around its entirety. It was the most stunningly gorgeous color Shirisha had ever seen. They heard the heavy grinding of the body on earth once more as it began to move again, directly down the path above their heads.

The time had now come for the bestowal of wishes. Everyone bowed their heads in respect, lifting their lanterns high into the air. With their eyes closed they all thought intensely in their minds what they wished for the most in the coming year, as the lantern light cast a glow onto Abhinatha's stomach passing above, which was covered in lighter disc-like scales.

Eventually they heard the beginning of Abhinatha's body make contact with the next mountain, one much more dense with trees but less suitable for a village, as the tail above them thinned to a tip and moved steadily away. The people began to rise from their knees and walk to a point somewhere in the middle of the central path, a point where they typically clustered to watch Abhinatha disappear over the horizon. Shirisha spoke excitedly amongst others of their wishes, and to children about how they felt, simply happy that spring was coming.

It was still very dark, but less dark than it was before. They watched the coiling of their great savior, its mass breaking trees in short brittle snaps as the head craned forward to the next mountain over the valley far down below, the heavy center of its length gripped around the mountain beside theirs. The ritual had finished, its fruits hoped to be borne in the coming months of the village.

Suddenly, a resounding crack filled the valley.

The people were clearly startled, looking around in confusion. Amidst the sudden commotion, Shirisha believed she heard it come from the other mountain, the one Abhinatha was on. Then, on a powerful rise, rolling and swelling into the air was a greater sound, a tremendous roar of water. Several people were shouting as the sound grew ever stronger, accompanied by the same brittle cracking of trees and rocks one hundredfold. Shirisha and many others saw it clearly now; the hulking torrent of water that sent streams into the air, beginning towards the summit and barreling down the mountainside, collecting the heavy rooted plants and stones as it grew in strength and loosened the earth. Abhinatha was directly in its path.

People were screaming violently at Abhinatha while jostling together, and tears filled Shirisha's eyes as she found herself joining their desperate chorus. But Abhinatha did not seem to notice, acting purely on the one will that had driven it for millenium.

Shirisha watched in horror as the mass slammed into Abhinatha's side like a supernatural warhammer, ripping the massive serpent off the ground. Its neck was pulled down and the head whipped with it, the serpent's mouth gaping wide and unleashing an unearthly hissing sound with that same forked tongue flaring violently in the sky. The body was rolling over again and again, crashing and smashing through the environment as it lost all control, large boulders hurled against its stomach and ribs by the water that dragged it ever downward.

At last, it hit the base of the mountain as the water spilled out into the valley, flooding the river. The wildly contorting head was slammed full force into the rocky riverside, all the while emotions ran rampant in the village. Shirisha still had tears in her eyes, clutching at her heart while looking at the unmoving body sprawled along the valley.

There existed only one explanation of this event, and though they did not know exactly how, there proved only one single person that it could have been. He who lurked and was seen rarely, he who was known for a will of iron almost certainly capable of such a feat. Sang, the young hunter.