Mission of Honour [antikvár]

omMaun, Botswana Monday, 4:53 a.m.The sun rose swiftly over the flat, seemingly endless plain.The landmarks had changed in the decades since "Prince" Leon Seronga had first come here. Behind them, the Khwai River was not as deep as it had been. The grasses of the plain were shorter but more plentiful, covering familiar boulders and ravines. But the former army officer had no trouble recognizing the place or reconnecting with the transformations that had started here.One was his personal growth.The second was a result of that growth, the birth of a new nation.And the third? He hoped that his visit today would begin the greatest change yet.Walking into the new dawn, the six-foot-three Seronga watched as the deep black sky seemed to catch fire. It started at a point and spilled all along the horizon, like liquid flame. Stars that had been so bright just moments before quickly dimmed and faded like the last of fireworks. Within seconds, the sharp, crescent moon dimmed from sickle-edged brilliance to cloudlike. All around him, the sleeping earth became active. The wind began to move. High-flying hawks and tiny kinglets took flight. Fleas started to creep along Leon's army boots. Field mice dashed through the grasses to the north.That is power, thought the lean, dreadlocked man.Simply by waking, by opening a blind eye, the sun caused heaven's other lights to flee and the earth itself to stir. The retired Democratic Army soldier wondered if Dhamballa felt a hint of that same prepotency when he woke each moming.