Away up above us, beside the tomb, like an ancient bearded ghost, Anazeh stood motionless, silent, conning the track we should come by--a grand old savage keeping faith against his neighbours for the sake of friendship.
He did not challenge when he heard us.

He took aim.

He held his aim until Grim called to him.

When our goat track joined the main road he was there awaiting us, standing like a sentinel in the shadow of a fanged rock.

And there, if, Abdul Ali of Damascus could have had his way, there would have been a fresh debate.