AT THE FOOTSTEPS Prologue TO THE WORLD Under the growing moon there drifted a whisper with a distant stream. Waves beating restlessly the tired rain-lashed shore. For long the wilds under the northern sky silent may have been. Resounded only with a breath of wind. The spear of a bear-hunter lay on the ground by its prey. Awaiting the arrival of a craft. Yet no one foresaw the dawning and thus set another day. Hearken to the ravens' cry across all heavens.

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