This story is in response 
Jaeksn sat on the bluff observing the last sliver of orange-red sun sinking into the horizon ever so slowly. It would be several earth-days yet, in fact, until the last of that sliver disappeared completely and set these lands into a prolonged darkness. This very bluff would remain shrouded in black and cold until his far-off brethren, the tribes of the Dawn, were carried ever-forth by the rays of eternal sunrise all the way back to these same lands once again.
But Jaeksn wasn't of the Dawn. While he an his tribe basked in rays of a kindred subtle bronze warmth and mirrored slant, their rays came not from an awakening at their backs but from the sun dying ahead of them. Ever ahead, they were ever slowly chasing the trickle of it's late angular warmth.
As Jaeksn sat there on the bluff, he sensed the dwindling rays striking shivers across the cilia of his forearms. Better than any clock. Time to move.
Below him, he observed the people of his tribe disassembling their narrow encampment in the valley plains in preparation for yet another forward migration. He loped down the bluff towards the encampment to lend his strength to an effort repeated time immemorial. His tribe (and others like it to the North and South) made up the tail end of the People of the Marching Day. Jaeksn was of the sunset-chasers. He belonged to those who ran on the unending edge of day turning dark, the tribes of the Eventides.