"White: They killed an old man's son. When the old man found out, he went there and gathered the bones. From then on, in all his travels, the old man led a black horse that carried his son's bones on its back. And the old man would say to whomever he met: 'See what my son looks like now; only his bones remain, and his bones are polished and shine like a mirror in the sunlight and moonlight. See how handsome he is.' Black: There was a woman with long, heavy, black, and beautiful hair. She wrapped it like a shawl and withdrew from the world. And not even Age could find her. Sometimes she slips into the societies of men and makes her voice heard in sacred songs. And always, there, is a shadow that not even the bonfires can penetrate."