|The songs if paradise, a soft sweet ringing in my ear. The melody of a young gental voice resenting with the electric and timely wisps of insects and birds. Its pulsating humming pure and vigilant . An occasional patter of rain or drum of frost. The Chiming of the north and south winds , and the steady hungry growls of something soon to pass. And the beating war drums of something that has yet to even reach the mountainside.
No one with power chooses to show their strength any more then a tactician reveils their strategys.It is a hand that must be forced, never freely demonstrated.