Credit this short to a multilayered, mythological piece of art by Seyorrol.
Posted at tumbler under Jack T. Cole

http://newjackcole.tumblr.com/image/156459186975

In a remote stretch of river meandered jungle once called Gohma; overgrown vines, moss and trees work their flora magic upon the crumbling remains of the City. A complex of Edifices with crumbling walls and fallen roofs lying ruined along with columns, once brightly painted abstract murals and jars. Eroding under the sun and rain.

Between tilted columns and sun faded decorative jars lay a hard fired jar upon a waist high parapet. Broken in half along it's center axis, as colorful as the day it was fired. Next to it was a flat disk of metal, as bright as silver, but untarnished. Afternoon rains during the Wet Season did not collect upon it, but beaded up and fled it's surface as if being burnt. Neither did black mold or moss colonize it.

Yet, every year, during the early morning turn of the dry season, a creature came by. Gracile upon four limbs, stiff tailed and erect eared. Pelted in gold tan with white markings. A Singing Dog of the jungle trotting with the ease of short lived vitality but having a face older than even the aged could acquire.

Never knowing how, his nose led him to this spot. Ears flickering interest. A languid leap upon the parapet and the short furred canine would sit upon the disk. Sitting stiffly. Tail curled around it's side.

Whether it was the rising damp or illusory mists that sometimes clung around the stony remains or enchantment within the metal disk, his shape would change like water. Legs becoming longer till they draped over the side. Forelimbs growing long enough to reach over to the half broken jar and lift it slightly. Revealing a prize. Another unblemished artifact. An abstract painted, half muzzle mask made of airy porcelain that was lifted and placed upon his. Pelted body becoming a living canvas as etched tattoos of eyes appeared spontantously. Lines around joints and newly made colored bands enveloping now elongated wrists and foot like ankles.

Leaning against the wall like a man, trembling with enchantment surging through the masked Singing Dog like fording the river. Swimming through eddies of memory. Beginning with the first words asked by him.

Why?

You chose. Came the answer.

He followed them. They who strode tall upon two limbs from a long ago Savannah. He sat upon the freshly surveyed boundary, tail curled, watching them carve their structures out of the Jungle. They plowed and planted cultured rows of crops, deployed boats to harvest river fish and drafted him into service or his progeny to hunt the occasional jungle bird or monkey.

In time the City grew, the people became as abundant as moss. They acquired the ability to change things that Sun, Wind, Rain, Earth and Time possessed. Yet something kept them bound to this place. Anxious to keep the Blessing alive.

Once in a generation, they would hold the Ceremony. Where the boundaries between the feral and those shaped by civilization were blurred for one and only one day. Including their invited guests; captured jungle boars, a lion from the plains beyond and river pythoness along with a gaggle of swans. They did not kill them, but dressed the animals in pigmented tattoos. The pigments, unlike any made since, made their bodies borrow and blend the shapes of men. Only the river serpent and birds remained unchanged. The same tattoos exerted a calming influence. Their feral eyes indicating an Understanding that calmed them and await what was to be done.

The boars in nude, tattooed bodies manlike and as large as rhinos became bearers of a massive, curtain draped litter. The swans flew around it, dropping exotic flower garlands and honking cries of huzzah. The lion and river python sat atop. The guests of honor.

Even the Singing dog would have a role. He would stand tall like a man, a silent giant looming over the boundaries of the procession. With a half mask obscuring his muzzled face and holding a flat disk painted with a trio of symbols signifying the tripod supporting Civilization.

Once he asked. Why?

And was told.

By midday the procession proceeded to it's climax in front of the temple. The Priest King, possessing youthful brown features, stood tall. Clad in white shirt and trousers. Arms clasped behind his back. A solar disk mask obscuring his own face. The Priestess in a male ram's skull and half nude. Nude attendents sitting nearby in sun masks.

Only the creatures from the jungle kept their faces unmasked. The boars laboring, grunting as they bore the litter to the temple entrance. The swans flying in formation would gather up the ends of the litter curtain to keep it from entangling under cloven hoofed feet.

On top, the now manlike lion, nude and tattooed, with the look of a groom drunk with ceremony, anticipation and drink, gazed upon his bride. The river python draped in colorful tresses, ringlets and braids that queens wore to be betrothed.

A brief halt. The Priest King proclaiming to the faceless crowd in words spoken that only the dog seemed to hear.

The procession entered the temple proper. Leaving the masked dog outside to lower the disk and sit. Guarding the temple from the silence.

The half mask slid off a muzzled face, caught by changing hands, then placed underneath the broken jar. A pelted shape flowing to it's former self. Leaving behind a weary, panting dog of Guinea sitting on a metal disk within a ruined jungle city. He jumped off and padded into the undergrowth.

The spell with it's blessing and curse of recollection, gone till another season. Images and memory safely forgotten. Except for that final word echoing silently between the dog's ears.

Why?