Ant told of this many Suns before,
      busied in preparation and climbed higher.
Son of the Grey Serpent slid over the sky.
Now water drips everywhere, beating through the canopy,
      draped in mists.
Boinayel with us through still, sullen days of waiting.
Seven Suns of rain.
Moon is almost full and life a slow round,
From light grey to black, dark grey and back.
The whole village hud...

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