Not too long ago, we were not all stuck on the earth by gravity. Some of us flew. There were those who danced on the clouds – riders of the wind, free from the law that bound the rest on earth. Those of the ground mostly ignored “the ones in the sky”. Oh, they knew …
Why were they called the Singing Mountains? Was it for the western birds, whose song filled the wide expanse from the Kahadlakh to the shores of the Björgrin peninsula? Was it for the east wind, caught up in currents which weaved to and fro through the green highland in composition? Or was it for another …
Twenty-fourth of August, 1257 My name is Phillip Cameron. I am the son of a merchant sailor of León, having taken after him these past three years, since I was seventeen. I was given this journal by my Uncle Nihra who died two nights ago. He left it in my possession after owning it for …