[font=Verdana][/font] ::a hushed voice whispers in dreams, it is carried on the wind:: Did you feel the cool caress of wind last night? Did it howl past your ears and whisper things to you? It should have. If you knew what to listen for the wind would have told you that only a few miles away plans were being laid, and the rebels were comming. Do you dare ask the wind more ? Or will you wait until they stand at the edge of your forest, mere shadows watching and waiting to make there move. Ask the trees, ask the wind they may even answer you but it still won't stop there comming. ::the prophetic dream starts to die away and the only image that is left is a beautiful wild flower covered hillside, it's beauty a stark reversal to the elderly black oak tree standing in the very center of your vision. Even the light around it seems to bend and turn to shadow.:: Yet the tree doesn't leave you with a feeling of fear. It is a feeling of balance and peace that overwhelms you and makes you wake. You can't help but hear the phrase again in your head as you shoot up from a sound sleep. "The Rebels are comming..."
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