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And yet I felt a darkness creeping over me, even as I stood in the broad daylight of the meadows. I paused before the pit, the castle at my back and a mountain of old broken furniture before me, waiting for a flame. But there was a whisper in the wind, cold and sharp from the mountains. And the dark words rose up like a hiss in the rasping of the grass, like a curse in the groaning of the oaks. Where are you, Aodhan?
You are made of ancient songs and stars and steel.
