Sitting in the forest, watching ravens fly by, a gateway to another world. All around sit two people in place of one, edges blurred like a charcoal drawing, two souls watching out through the same windows. The smell of water upon the air, falling gently then like a torrent. In the distance walk three graces…one with battle weary eyes, one with the hands of a healer, the last fresh upon the world. A breeze blows through the tall grass.
Muses upon earth
Branches twist to touch in joy
Overhead the stars
Nian Xióng Hall 
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