Silencio CXLIV

Still, he listened harder, wondering whether the wind would carry any more words between the worlds. Apart from the crash of the waves on breakers behind and far below him, he heard nothing, only silence. But a specific kind of silence. There are many kinds of silences. Graves have their own silence, space has its silence, mountaintops have theirs. This was a hunting silence. It was a stalking silence. In this silence something moved on velvet-soft pads, with muscles like steel strings coil beneath soft fur : something the colour of shadows in the long grass ; something that would ensure that you heard nothing it did not wished you to hear. It was silence that was moving from side to side in front of him, slowly and relentlessly, and with every arc it was getting closer.

Neil Gaiman, Anansi Boys


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