Love is in deed Blind,
And yet it is the one thing that Sees
Beyond the Years and over the Leagues,
Passing across even the barriers of Life and Death.
I Feel this Love, I am this Love, only no one can
Reach to feel me, me to reach without feeling.
I am the Sight without Love, I am the Madness.

—Tomes of the Touched

Living within Shadow, be it of one's brother or mother,
or the Dragon's wing even with its wind its hurricanes its tornados
Pales in the Wail of agony, and grief, the unsurmountable Sorrow
the Tears the Fears the watering eyes
beneath the hood that Winked
where there is Living without seeing or breathing
in the Light that is not light,
the Dark that is not dark,
Dying within the Shadow that is one's own.

—Tomes of the Touched

Tug at the teats of the World, no milk to suckle,
she is not your mother and cares not for hungers or pains,
losses and gains, she will give you Worms when you covet Eyes,
a Snake instead of a Tongue, Hornets to plague wilting lilting ears with a Buzz,
a buzz, a Buzzing, a Sting, 
and burdens to bear in the form of whys.
What she feeds you She feeds You not out of caring for your bloated fat,
nor bloated starving gut. No and no and no again,
never mistake as Caring what is mere Habit.

With a withering kiss on your cheek she will say goodbye, but
Perhaps that is just the wishful thinking of one Who has Died
So many times Before.

—Tomes of the Touched

A lisping Kiss, a hush of warmth, the flow of blood, the rush of breath,
Startling in its ending and its beginning.
Love, Passion, Hate, Burning in the Hand of the ecstatic Mind,
So many things thought and Forgotten, felt and recalled
How her body stiffened in a Moan
and went soft with a Whisper.
She is dead, and I killed Her.

—Tomes of the Touched


(Intro this with Belo leaving Glimdrem here)

Glimdrêm was being afforded an opportunity…

The Vale of Resting Winds was a deep bowl with steep earthen walls and a single set of granite steps set into the ground for descent to a lush grass covered floor. The hills above were covered in trees but the floor here was clear of leaves and twigs, for the grounds were kept as neatly as any garden.

Ûvîn stood in the center of a great ring of stone. From above the circle had looked like a path in the grass, but closer now Glimdrêm realized that the stone path was in fact sitting on pillars, a table of sorts, that allowed the speaker in the middle to turn, face, and even walk up to anyone seated around. 

Glimdrêm approached with trepidation, “Lord Ûvîn, excuse me.” Ûvîn glanced at him, and he felt an urge to bow. 

“Lord? Of what, precisely?”

“My apologies, I had been informed that Lord was an appropriate title.”

“Ûvîn will do nicely.” Ûvîn grinned, exposing multiple rows of sharp fangs, the only thing so far that spoke to this man not being human.

 

Background Art by Jon Gibbons

© 2018 L. James Rice