Her mild touch has set in and we Cavemen once again adapt to her soothing blanket.

Chapter IV: High Stake Hollow

Pencilstrikes, forced on the descriptive parchment of our pilgrimage. Dry sands stir up dust as our shackled boots bewander a windswept plain. The slit of our pen runs dry, yet the moist throats of our custodians crave to herald the fourth Chapter in a grim recital. And in the darkest hour before the dawn we see eye to eye, Queen of the Council.

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Verse2

As our dapper boots flatten the wet soil, their silhouettes loom in the distant horizon.