![]() ![]() But in a way Clarsah was always with him, for she was an intimate part of the man, her music constantly in his thoughts. Evening wind off the sea could damage the voice of a harp. Tonight the mood was particularly strong, driving him to stalk the beach and endure his melancholy with gritted teeth.įor once Clarsah did not ride his shoulder. Yet the north wind persisted in torturing him with hints of that achingly beautiful and unreal land, his heart’s home.Īmergin had never felt truly at home anywhere, even inside his own skin. The green wind, he named it to himself, for to Amergin it seemed laden with verdant aromas from some fair otherworld existing only in his imagination. All his life he had suffered an itch in his soul, a formless yearning that blew toward him on the north wind. Tide flirting with sand, seducing, inviting, whispering tales from beyond the dark sea.ĭark sea, fading light, and an old familiar restlessness combined to haunt Amergin the bard. ![]() Hear the lapping of waves slapping the shore, the hiss of their withdrawal, their rushing return. See a tall man pacing alone on the twilight beach, caught between the dying day and the incoming tide. ![]()
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