My words are but the whisper of a forgotten wind. Let them be lost or found as suits the seeker.

It be joy ye speak of? Delight? Pleasure? there have, mayhap, been some few candles melted to run wax since my first waking. There have, indeed, been no few gods. There have been changes to the land, and to those that wake about me. Some sorrow for those faces I knew well and see no more? Aye. But ever fond memory of those faces, and delight in those new about me.

But there has not ever, nor ever is one single moment that the land and to wake in it has not, is not and ( as far as my poor eye may see) will not be joy.

As the Lightning oft says... ' Joy of the day.' Joy of the day, joy of the Gifted about me, joy of the Lightning's smile.

I do not, however, speak for any save one Fool. For even were I to believe I knew the minds of the many, those minds are not mine to speak.

My words are but the whisper of a forgotten wind. Let them be lost or found as suits the seeker.


Sephiranoth, called by some ShadowSeeker
Nobody and Nothing ever, save The Five do Feast
A Fool that walks among the Wise