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Over mountains, under sky, Always wander, never hide, In shining lakes of emerald green,  In glittering caverns of tourmaline, A kiamara who can never...

It is that time of the year when the last meat is falling of the bones of the earth, Not a particularly pretty time, but a time of great importance, The sense of death lurks in the air, as the plants shrivel and die, Some will regrow next year and some will never return, I am from these days, between winter and fall, I hear the whispers of the other creatures, of the...