Now comes the silent, floating temple, its obsequities occluded, its purpose shrouded in silence. No one is seen to go in, but it was said, by someone who drew too close to those moldered stones, that the echoes of their prayers can be heard, like a whining wind, whispering out its hall. Too close, he withered after, lost in longing for the wind. Unseen, but I know, that his soul flowed from him and now whistles around the crumbling columns of the silent temple.
Do not allow the shifting currents their way too long; they fool you if you think their aimless paths are aimless; they lead unwary aeronauts into their quiet halls.
The shadow of the temple passes overhead, and I shiver. I fear I may have caught a mere hint of the melody. I have been made mortal by their song.
Tale Told 