And as he called upon this creature world, it felt him soon distress, the empty call of night that left him deaf. And of what creatures this world he calls, the strong and sound of iron wrought and justice bound,
those men akin to not be found. A dream once, he thinks, twice and thrice it has been. Of all the stars and moons to answer him and not but fly fortuity down amongst the thinning mist. What beauty! That all for once shone to him that gilding chance. What tragedy it comes when all has but yet to last. But what beauty still! For fortuity always flies across the land, and so shall be again, if only to linger until the dawn.