The southern night came on quickly. I looked up at the sky, trying to locate the constellation which had once reminded me of the goatibex. But ever since that evening with Valiko, try as I might, I had never found anything even slightly resembling it. So too on this occasion: the sky was full of constellations, but the goatibex was nowhere in sight.
I sat there sipping my coffee, and each time I raised the cup to my lips and sucked in a hot, thick mouthful, I would feel at my elbow the gentle pressure of my string bag full of fish. It was as if my own dog were sitting behind me, thrusting his cold, moist nose into my elbow as a subtle reminder of his presence. The sensation was a pleasant one, and I didn’t change my position until I had drained the contents of my cup.
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