Firelight flicker, casting shadows and light onto the indistinct figures standing near

the open flames.

One man held a piece of bone in his hands.

It had begun its life as the shoulder blade of an ox, but since then, the scapula had

been transformed into something much different and greater.

It had been shaped into a flat, roughly triangular form, it surfaced polished until it

gleamed.

A series of drilled holes left it wafer thin in places.

Inscribed characters, symbols deeply incised into the bone, covered one side completely.

All of this was mere preparation.

Another man, standing near the first placed one end of a wooden rod deep into the ashes

at the heart of the fire.

He held it there, feeling the heat on his face until the end of the rod glowed white.

Now is the time.

He removed the rod from the fire and carefully inserted the hot end into one of the holes

in the bone.

After a moment, the men heard a sharp crack.

The heat had left a jagged line in the surface of the bone, precisely what they wanted.

Holding the scapula close to the firelight, they examined the crack, peering at it with

great intent.

They nodded and exchanged a few words.

The oracle was clear.

...