- Light that leaps from a sun still sunken hails the hunter at hover,Washes his wings in molten morning, startles the stars to cover.Blue is the bell of hollow heaven, rung by a risen blowing.Wide lie woodlands and mountain meadows, great and green with their growing.But look-oh, look!-a red ray struckThrough tattered mist a broadhorn buck.Stands traitor-kissed, the talons crook.Tilt through tumult of wakened wind-noise, whining, whickering, whirly;Slip down a slatwise course of currents. Ha, but the hunt comes early!Poise on the pinions, take the target there in the then of swooping-Thrust on through by the wind-wild wingbeat, stark the stabber comes stoopingThe buck may pose for one short breath before it runs from whistling deathThe Hammer stuns. The talons close.Hunting song of the Ythrians. From 'People of the Wind'.''"Those who most complain about decadence are historical philosophers who never had to do any of the actual fighting"- Dominic Flandry, 'Warriors from Nowhere'.''"I'm not superstitious, I don't believe in curses and spooks, as I don't believe in the benevolence of governments"-Dominic Flandry 'Knight of Ghosts and Shadows'.''"Is this the mythological Admiral Flandry? No, you are in the presence of the objective Admiral Flandry, some would say the objectionable Admiral Flandry"-Dominic Flandry 'Stone in Heaven'.
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