Even now, if one scryes the land, their tracks and fossils can be found. They left clues, clues that some were giant, and others were small. Some flew, others swam, most moved along the ground as fast as life.
Long removed from our beats, young one, they wandered the open lands. And the jungles. And the seas. Always, they wandered. Searching for hope, but finding sorrow in the Great Death.
Without them, we would find our perspective lacking, and perhaps assume we would last forever.
We would trap ourselves in the cycle of death, always striving for law, succumbing to sin.
Keep your faith in the cycle of life. Do not cross those tracks-ever. Stay close to home, my sweet. And remember my broodling, as you forage the under river, never forget the folly called man.
jrc 5/22/02
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