Tis a horrible day when the Windlings can't play and the change we so love do we lack. That the horrors of late would stop all the change, so said the man in the shack. So off do I fly with my T'skrang beside and a human and elf who are brave. To prove that our worth is better then dirt, and whats in our hearts are not knave. We rested the nights and walked through the days, and stop in a village so small But what we did find, a village not mine, was not very splendid at all They would not dance a jig and sing out a tune and seemed that their souls so unsound