He moved away from the thin hand, his back against the wooden trunk’s front.  The hands neither moved nor threatened.  Their chains were visibly stretched to the max.  The limb withdrew back, allowing the little man more space.  The eyes radiated kindness and a girl’s playfulness.

        “I will not force you.  As you can see, even had I the desire it is not within my power,” her immense hand lightly beckoned, “You have the choice to speak with me on my level or you may continue in your container.”

        He lay unmoving, gasping unexpectedly.  Her words had so confounded him that he hadn’t been breathing.  He remained still, paralyzed with fear while she waited patiently.

        “Please,” she implored, “Our situations are not so dissimilar.”

        Thinking of her shackles, he yielded.  Getting up to his feet, he gingerly stepped onto her hand.  Slowly, it ascended and went around the lid of the wooden chest and he came face to face with her.  Her countenance was markedly cordial, her skin far browner than Adnah’s own.  Even her palm was darker brown than his naked body.  She studied him from head to toe.  Abashed, he lowered his gaze, again noticing the innumerable round swellings on her lower torso.  Her elaborate survey focused back on his face, noticing where his attention lay.

        “Do you like them?  Those are my markings, of my faith.”

        “Markings?  What could have done that to you?”

        “Each one was made by hooking the skin with a thorn, then cutting it with a knife,” with her free hand she mimicked the motion of a thorn piercing, then a knife slicing.

        Adnah winced.

        “It hurt for a time, but that was as important as the markings themselves.  It was a sacramental rite.”

        “Why?” He asked, wincing upon hearing the word rite.

        “It symbolizes my devotion to the goddess Fire.”

        “You mean the goddess Oya?”

        She laughed, “No, Fire, the goddess.”

        She softly grabbed his arm and guided it to one of the elevated notches.

        “Fire is an element, not a being” he mumbled, lost in the warmth of this small gnarl of skin.

        “No, Little One, Fire is alive, have you never watched Her move, dancing as She feeds?”

        The look on her face, the tone of her voice, the feel of her skin.  His senses burdened to excess.

        “A, And how do you know it is a goddess and not a god?” he stammered distinctly feeling the contours of her fingerprints gently touching his cheeks.

        “Like a woman, Fire gives birth to more of its race, just one spark can create countless more.  Like a female she hungers endlessly,” the finger lowered between his legs, rubbing the now emerging bulge with her fingernail, “Greedily consuming whatever lies before her, be it power, wealth, or men.”

        The fingernail’s subtle rubbing coaxed the swelling further before brusquely abandoning its task and retreating to its master’s lips.  Shaken with disappointment, Adnah’s fog of mind cleared, to an extent.

        “Maybe it does behave like a living creature but it moves without intellect or reason.” he rationalized, looking towards her face, watching her lick her thumb and pointer.

        “What are we to understand, or even question, the nature of a goddess?” She gently tutored, reaching the two fingers towards the center of his hips, “Especially when there are more pressing questions, like my name.”

        “What is your name?” He asked as the fingers hovered before his midsection, a hair’s breadth away.

         “Bititi.”

        “Do you wish to know my name?” His eyes glued to her fingers.

        “No,” she said with certainty, closing the distance.