Weary traveller, dust off your cloth. Suffering, purged by might. Behind the fog and fallings of man, beyond the sun, the kingdom of light. Hope resides over the brow, watch for shimmers and shine. Tire you may, but not into sleep. Your wounds will mend with grace of time. Golden feasts, riches and wine, bartizans kissing the sky. Evergreen gardens, blossoms undying. Tears and woe must also cry. Your heart with rigor must carry on. The trek must yield at end of day. Your place awaits at Lysa's keep, the setting sun will guide the way.