A narrow, earthen ribbon of space is pulled taut between two worlds: at one end, a frieze of small, rust-colored human silhouettes tumble and surge like ancestral memory; at the other, a monumental reptilian head holds the horizon in a single, unblinking gaze. The work’s quiet drama hinges on a thin red line that reads as thread, tether, or wound—an austere conduit through which power, fear, and dependence travel in both directions. With its compressed scale and patient, granular texture, the piece turns a simple lateral composition into a meditation on predation and protection, suggesting that history itself can be a leash we inherit rather than choose.