The Bowl of Night The Bowl of Night by Rosemary Edghill Excerpt copyright 1996 I circled around the cabins, and then around the lake. But I wasn't really looking for people. Until I heard the voices. People camp there some years, but the prime camping area is around the lake, and this year everyone had been accommodated there.
Life is pain.
Which was one of the reasons they'd chosen it, of course. Pain is truth. Something that would leave no trace in the morning's light. There were candles in hurricane lamps at three points, putting the wok-fire in the center of a triangle. Truth is life.