The gentle wind moves through the valley, the bending waves of the grass like a green ocean under our feet. I salute; I hear you growl in reply. We point our swords at each other. The end. This must end here. The clash of steel, familiar, is the rhythm of our dance. We circle and circle, we lunge and retreat, and the steel is ringing in my ears.
Do you dream as well? Do you dream the same dream? Let us find the valley where we may kill each other, where the grass bends in the wind, and swords ring.
Tale Told 