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[b]Epilogue[/b]

Plains are gentle to the winds that stride upon them. The air sifts between long grasses, soughing. Each gust carries a subtly different note. I am well familiar with this ambience. It is the sound of waves. Over the great length of the golden barrens, a tide is coming in.

The acacia is an island, its canopy broad and lonely. The only place of shade for many tired footfalls on the way to the venomweald. High are its leaves, and high am I, among them. A view of splendour. It is gratifying, to own this land and rule it, but my reign is not quiet.

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