Above the wavering, hot shadows of the palm trees on the sluggish waters, the man-headed man was alone for a while on the sand. Only at noon did another shape break the repeating reflections.
“What are you, a god?” the man-headed man asked of the bird-headed man who came to stand beside him.
“Who are you, a god?” The bird-headed man returned the question, revealing crocodile teeth within his beak.
“I am just a man,” the man-headed man said. “You must be a god, for you have a head unlike any I’ve seen before.”
“Just what I wanted to say,” the bird-headed man with the crocodile teeth said, ruffling his dull red feathers. “Just what I wanted to say.”