I am a prophet but not a priest. I am a barbarian outside the gates, not a host to a court. I come as fire, to walk with me is to become me.
If I have set aflame a high born soul, let it be so. I will spread out to the steppes once this city is alight.
Never forget this.
The moon and the wind-swept tree, the dogs and the beaks of the ravens picking at the slain, the truth and his brother, the worm... never forget, so as to not have to remember in cold sweat waking up from a dream, whereby it acquires mystical properties of terror.
The tree stood at the dark stream. The tree was no less dark. A bird croaked sullenly to illuminate softly the path of the weary traveler. Who in a past life had believed that "the paths do not lead where the traveler goes, the traveler goes where the paths lead". Now neither path nor traveler had the lead, but the spirit of music was in charge.
Things remained to be seen....