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Tonight the veils waver in the winds of my sleeping... warm blooded and lucid, i step into the fabled gardens of the fayanturi.
This is my song, given from the shimmering surface of the fountains there, hidden among the flowering walls of creeping lace, soft and without thorn, where within feathered jewels make homes in the dappled shadows. And so my song is humble like theirs, and like the fountains it is subtle and alive with meaning, its voice primary, comforting to the original nature passed again from the flame to the wick. Here my craft takes root tonight, let this be pure, and rest with dignity in tomorrow's sun.