we arrived at the temple at dawn. twin velvet sun glared brightly upon our wounds but at this point we knew we were safe, for the monks greeted us with warm smiles and comfort. we gathered around a small fire at the center of the temple, the dust so thick it had become sand. the monks began making a stew from a rodent we were unfamiliar with. we traded them the last of our garlic for there is no splendor without flavor, and this day, was a reason to celebrate. we gazed upon the walls at their long forgotten story's of creation. the monks used to be renowned artisans but have not had the time nor the resources to continue their trade for century's. our eyes meet a painting far less decayed then the others. as we study the monks begin to chant a hymn in a language we can only make out part of.