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.
So says the wind
in the long year preserved
in the heart'srecollection,
and always it yearns
for another and blessed year
that the heart might have been
in its wild anointing.
And the wind is always your heartbeat,
is breathing remote
as the impassive stars,
and it moves from arrival to leaving,
leaving you one song only.
OH, THAT WAS THE LANGUAGE OF WIND,
you say, AND WHAT DOES IT MEAN
TO THE LEAVES AND THE WATER,
and ALWAYS is what it means.
Colors of Belief
Richard A. Knaak
Arryl Tremaine stepped into the common room of
Timon's Folly, the inn where he was staying, and
immediately noted the eyes that fixed on him. He was clad
in simple traveling clothes. Those in the inn could not
know for certain that he was a Knight of Solamnia, but they
COULD mark him as a foreigner. That in itself brought
attention enough. Had he not prudently decided to leave his
armor back in his room, the rest of the patrons would not
have pretended that they were looking anywhere but at him.
Ignoring the others, he marched toward the innkeeper,
a heavy, bustling man named Brek. The innkeeper was the
only one to give him any sort of greeting, likely because he
felt a kinship with the young knight
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