Lyren the wise once told Eobanus Lassus if he stood unmoving, deep in a forest close by a lake, from sunset until sunrise, facing north with his hands at his sides and his head slightly bowed, a vehvoss—an angilach of the leaf—would grant him an audience.
The sun has been up for an hour. His body occasionally quivers in revolt and with effort is pacified. He is close to giving up but a strange feeling (perhaps only fatigue) has overtaken him. There is something before him. His eyes seem on the verge of focusing on a shape in—or part of—the leaves and brush at his feet.
Frightened his concentration will fail him too soon, he asks the question that has burned his mind for millennia: “Did Argemon create the universe as he claimed, or was that another lie?”
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