Karr reaches out to catch a teardrop on his fingertip. He holds it up in the pale glow that radiates from the few remaining sprites above. A curious frown curves his lips. They cry for him yet bled for him. One must wonder which is more powerful. More binding. I suppose we shall one day know. And Karr isn't even his true name. He is glory and deprecation - sunlight and shadows - the scuttle of a scorpion and the melody of a nightingale. The breath of the sea and the cannonade of a storm. Can you relay birdsong, or the sound of wind, or the scurry of a creature across the sand? For the proper names of the chosen are made up of the life forces defining them. Can you speak these things with your tongue?
