The great king stands atop a plaza in early winter, the year 1091 AW.
“People of Rauha, sanctuary to the people of western Ki!” he announced with the glory and splendor of a cedar-cracking voice. “I am King Lenirath!”
They longed for someone like him.
Those who had been kneeling, their foreheads on the ground, beheld him now with glazed eyes of a deer in summer. Those to whom he delivered peace brimmed with smiles, their lips dripping roses. His heart, steadfast and awake with the song of the lyre and the harp, pounded with an ancient thunder.
Breaching the hilltop compound’s western wall, the sun rose over the golden dome; in the distance, ecstatic men, men made great in glory, cheered and sang songs of celebration as the ceremony continued.
Women in apartment windows, weeping at the sight of the king, held their faces against their hands. Bug-eyed husbands…
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