It was a thatched house, one which reeked of reckless abandonment yet had a touch of life.
Chanting incomprehensible words, a woman in her mid-twenties danced to inaudible tune. With face painted a deep hue of white chalk and red paint right below her left eyes, her fringes of hair cascaded freely on her lower back creating a fearsome feeling of a teenage ghost. She wasn't what is to be considered beautiful but her stamina was commendable. For such a dirty hut, her white placid gown was immaculately clean with the only dent being a black spot that could be narrowed down to be a black rose.
Few minutes into chanting and dancing, she stopped suddenly and knelt, her voluminous hair tumbling down her face.
"What do you see, great one?" a woman whose presence almost seemed nonexistent asked with quivering lips.
She had never regarded anyone younger than her talk more of a mere peasant shaman, yet she trembled at the sight of this shaman.
