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- #121
Masama moves just to the edge of the darkness and sits, cross-legged beside it. His voice drifts up to fill the empty spaces:
"Hail to thee, Asra, oldest of gods, ancient of heaven, maker of all things.
Hail to the mother of all things, the source of all wisdom, the most loving and merciful of all in the heavens.
Hail to she who is sleepless, while others sleep.
Hail from all the creature of every land, from those who fly to be near you, to those in the darkest depths of the sea who nevertheless depend on your warmth. All turn their heads to your light and pray for you in your journey through darkness.
Hail to thee Asra. I seek your wisdom. Show me your path.'
Masama closes his eyes for a moment and cocks his head to the darkness. "I will listen," he says.
Biorn clutches at Liadan's hand. "I don't like this place."
When Baldhart asks whether she looks like a boulder, the kid manages to crack a smile. "You're big. But you don't look like a rock."
"Hail to thee, Asra, oldest of gods, ancient of heaven, maker of all things.
Hail to the mother of all things, the source of all wisdom, the most loving and merciful of all in the heavens.
Hail to she who is sleepless, while others sleep.
Hail from all the creature of every land, from those who fly to be near you, to those in the darkest depths of the sea who nevertheless depend on your warmth. All turn their heads to your light and pray for you in your journey through darkness.
Hail to thee Asra. I seek your wisdom. Show me your path.'
Masama closes his eyes for a moment and cocks his head to the darkness. "I will listen," he says.
Biorn clutches at Liadan's hand. "I don't like this place."
When Baldhart asks whether she looks like a boulder, the kid manages to crack a smile. "You're big. But you don't look like a rock."
Valar Lord
Mythic Scribe