Death crossed the river, through the smoke to see out one of her Father's windows of future, past, and present. There she saw battles along the war path, time never standing still, in the shadows of mountains. The woods would grow and be cleared, grand harvests of lush hay fields there would be. A move adjacent too and fro and children are splashing in a pool, then a quick change to a ring of trees, a moss covered ground, with a tiny house for a fairy it be.
At her feet, firmly positioned, the rules of the order and on how they communicate. Death slowly drifted with smoke in place, she dipped her toes into a different space, parallels of odysseys of infinite growth.
9am
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