Yet, if history was silent on its origin, it did whisper, a long, hoarse whisper through the centuries, carried on under the cries of war and famine and death, the natural state of man, of a little book, a page, a mere leaf, and written on it…but no one could say. No man could read it, not anymore. For the ancients who could, it was always the source of great wisdom. Wherever civilization had arisen, from the deserts and wilds of the world, from the mountains or seas, there it was, forgotten, recalled only in passing, referenced as common knowledge.
Memento Mori
Tale Told 