My back is broken. Time to lick the tree, at last. I always thought that I would die a farmer's death—covered in wasso leaves, and anointed with the black mud. Now I see that no one will croak my song to the ring-counters, or plant my shuulmtul at the foot of the Hist. I die a lukiul death. So it goes. I pray that if anyone finds this note, they will whisper my name to the wind so I might find my way home. Even in a place like this, the wind can always find the leaves. It just takes time. -Seesaus
| Attributes | Values |
|---|---|
| rdfs:label |
|
| rdfs:comment |
|
| dcterms:subject | |
| lorebook |
|
| skillbook |
|
| FullTitle |
|
| dbkwik:elder-scrol...iPageUsesTemplate | |
| dbkwik:elderscroll...iPageUsesTemplate | |
| Author | |
| collection | |
| Title |
|
| abstract |
|