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originally posted in:The New Dojo
originally posted in: THE DOJO
1/20/2017 8:10:54 PM
61
The wind traveled out of a place that never was and always was, and danced through a place that was and never was, dancing across the mountaintops and along the rolling valleys. Mist traveled with it, over grassy hill and knoll, now it came to a tower peak and down the slope it rolled. From the mist there stepped a man, as old as Avalon, but there was no life within his skin, it's soul is dead and gone. Clad in simple hunters garb but with aristocratic pride, the old feet stepped and pale arm stretched and door slid open wide. Siloetted in the moonlight, with wild ivory hair, with eyes as red as burning dawn and fangs in a smile bared. The archer of another age, with a slaughted people's skin, he bows to you with a "good evening" and asks "may I come in?"
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