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ome say that the lights in the swamp are meaningless.
Some say they're only faeries or sky-lights reflecting against the swamp gas. Some adventurous few say that they're spirits, dead things walking among us, watching us live. They might even say more, and darker, that these spirits are evil, preying upon the living, lost souls of those who died without ever living as they should.

Some Kimeti are wrong.

But, how do I know this? I know because I saw. I saw their fog-white eyes and fang-filled maws. I saw them, dripping with the luminous bile of the dead as they dragged my brother into the mud and water with nary a cry nor a bubble. They were not eating him, no, they were taking him, taking him away to be one of them. Eternal, immortal, tormented.

Not a day goes by when I do not wonder why I was not taken, do not wish it was I. It should have been I who was taken, to save my brother, my only brother. I wish it had been me, yet wracked with guilt I cannot else but be glad that it was not. My mother tells me that I am too serious for one so young, too full of solemn thoughts for one so bright.

My mother is a fool. The bright half of me died in the mud so long ago and was dragged beneath by the slime-silvered claws of those long lost, and half my thoughts are there still in the suffocating depths with the brother who never spoke, and the malicious bones of the long lost and dead.


The young one sat back on his haunches with a satisfied air, grinning at the wide eyes in the circle around him, saying nothing.

Whisper-of-Wind galloped around a large group of Kimeti, "Come, I have a new story to tell you!" He heard the expected sighs and the melancholy "Alright." Of course, others were not fond of his stories, they seemed too unrealistic and made up, but they still listened.

In a circle, Whisper-of-Wind started his story like an old man would, except for the husky voice.

"Tonight's story is about the vicious Bunyip, one of the fiercest creatures in Matope. These creatures aren't friendly, the have a beak of a water bird, lined with rows of teeth and the jaw power of a crocodile. They are covered in shiny scales and have a large fin running from the back of their head all the way to the end of their tail, a Bunyip's feet are webbed and clawed, like their hands. The colour and patterns of one is always different to others.

"At night they emerge from the depths of billabongs and waterholes. They attract creatures, which include Kimeti, with their shiny scales while underwater, and as the poor thing looks over, they leap out and attack. If you're lucky, you might get away with a missing leg, if you're not, they'll drag you under water and rip you limp from limp. They then devour you, leaving your bones to be discovered by others, and your souls to wander around the land as ghosts. So for all of you yung'uns, remember, stay away from waterholes at night, or they'll.... GET YOU!"

Whisper-of-Wind yelled at the end unexpectantly at the group, letting them run away into the night, screaming like maniacs. Whisper-of-Wind chuckled, 'Always gets 'em,' he thought as he walked off to find his usually resting place.

Sour Fruit folded her legs comfortably under herself. She looked around the circle of faces, meeting the eyes of each in turn; then her gentle expression turned distant, and she gazed out thoughtfully into the dark.

"Down in the roots, in the deep dark, where the moon shines on the water but lights nothing, where the little foolish children go; that's where Blood-and Bones lives. Have you ever heard of Blood-and-Bones? Surely you have. She was born years upon years upon years ago, many turns of the seasons back, before your grandfathers' grandfathers dreamed their naming dreams. Nobody remembers what she looked like, not then, so that I cannot tell you.

Blood-and-Bones was beautiful and strong, they say. She should have been happy. But she had one great flaw. She was born with the worm of jealousy in her stomach. When she saw another kimeti with food, with friends, with mates, that worm turned and curled and wriggled in her belly, whispering and whispering. That is better than what you have, whispered the worm. What you have is not enough. And it made Blood-and-Bones sick with her envy, with the want of what she could not have.

So she stole and lied and sneaked to get it. But it was never enough. When she ate stolen food, it was like ashes in her mouth; when she lured a companion to her side, she stuttered or fell mute. The worm wriggled and whispered. It is not enough.

Blood-and-Bones stopped eating, because no food satisfied. She stopped speaking, because her words turned and wriggled in her mouth. She stopped sleeping, because when she slept, the worm showed her in dreams what she couldn't have, what she wanted, what was forever beyond her reach.

In time, she lay down beside a pool of water and laid her head on the ground. She was hungry, and she was angry, and the worm inside her was eating her alive from the inside out. She hated what she was. She wanted to be someone else, because surely, surely, whispered the worm, that would be better than what you have.

She cried out, and her voice became the wind, became the rattle and rub of dead branches in the night, became the slap and slush of water against treacherous ground. She stared into her own furious eyes in the water, and she died.

But oh, she did not die completely. Her jealousy was too strong for that. Blood-and-Bones slipped into her reflection in the water, where the pale starlight showed her her own gaunt face, and there she was trapped, angry and still wanting, wanting, wanting. When the sun came up, she faded down into the darkest dark muddy slimy hollows of the roots, the places where the shadows never leave, and there she lives, nursing her hunger. She is still jealous. She is jealous of those who live, jealous of their bodies, jealous of their lives. All she remembers is her name, and her envy, and the reflection of her eyes in the water.

On nights when there is no moon in the sky, if you go alone into the dark and tangled places, you can find her still. If you look into the dark water, and bend down low, and call her name three times, Blood-and-Bones will come. And if you are unwary, and you look into her cold dead jealous eyes, she will slip up out of her reflection, and she will slip into your eyes, and she will steal your life, and down you'll go into the reflection, into the cold and dark, where you'll be hungry forever.

How do I know about Blood-and-Bones?"

Sour Fruit smiled a sweet, sweet smile, and looked into the eyes of each of her listeners in turn. "Once," she said, "I went down into the dark, and I looked into the water, and I called - Blood-and-Bones, Blood-and-Bones, Blood-and-Bones ... "