The mountains move. The seas part. And still the people hold back. They say the stars are not yet right. But the prophets know the risk of presumption. They have seen the cost incurred by reservation. The stars dance to new constellations, and still the people mutter imprecations. The grass listens and withers on one side of the fence. The trees listen and keep their fruit for themselves. The flowers listen and blossom forgiveness. Nowhere was there peace, and everywhere there was solitude. The entire Realm hinged on a single breath. The beast opened a single eye and saw that waiting still was. The free folk closed both eyes and prayed for discernment. The Others tasted the wind and decided forgiveness was at hand. And the people kept on as they were, praying, fearing, hoping. Until the stars were right.
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