Twice I asked Wiki, mainly to see what he would say, if we might leave the valley. Each time he smiled cryptically, raised his arm and swept the compass of the cliffs.
"If you go, you go to death," he said the first time.
And a week later:
"Shall we send you to your deaths, Englishman? That would not be kind."
"But I think sometimes we linger here only to await death," I countered.
His face was solemn, but his green eyes mocked me.
"Can you see the future?" he asked.
"No, I am no miracle-worker."
"Then how can you know what Massi has in store for you?"
"Why do the naked bowmen lurk here so long?" I demanded, changing the subject.