5th of Sun's Height, 4E 201
The sword's bloodlust can be used. Its desire to cleave, a bridge. Cut open the path. But never let the wound fester. A broken bone grows stronger when healed.
18th of Sun's Height, 4E 201
Another vision. A long march through the gray. Crackle of boots, pressed on misshapen throats. In the fog, a whistle, marking time.
The sword is planted in the earth. Chaos screams, bleeds. Through its heart, roots are nourished. From the wound, a tree blooms. A path opens.
1st of Last Seed, 4E 201
Scar tissue hardens, roots thicken. The wound bleeds, but the path is blocked. A fish swimming upstream.
Perhaps the path is not for me. The path is for it. The river must flow from source to mouth, to fill the mind's cup.
16th of Last Seed, 4E 201
Temporary hearing loss. Bread, baking in a hearth. We reach out and grasp the abyss, only to let go. Face first into the mud with gritted teeth. Light bending through a glass eye. How easily we are lost! Revelations soaring on red wings above the dark. Rain running down the side of every window pane.
I will not go manic.
I will bring Mania to me.