"Regardless, we weren't in there long... A couple of nights, as best we could tell, before we were dragged out down Mawk's Mantle. That leaves us back where we started, I guess - the flickering dawn, the stage, the bismuth nooses, that bloody heron. Funny what your mind notices in the direst moments."
~~~
Our ritual fades, our story ends. Behind the fallen arras, twenty years of asking and wondering. Nilkat and Belka stare into the cooling fire. They trace the knot and growth of exhausted timber, with only ash and ember to shape the phantoms of the trees that could have been.
~~~
A finale, then. We play the HISTORY IS GONE BUT WE REMEMBER by Ben Roswell as we let ourselves drift from our tale of Ginnels and Swifts, the bastard nim Shifs and the defiant Maybes. We study the city from a distance, imagine the stories that could have been, those loose ends ready to be woven into our greater tapestry.
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