| We need to find a way to explain it's not the abstract concept of nature we're trying to save. It's our very existence. We need those trees, we need that water to survive. |
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A coordinated attack by doomsday cultists on the urban wasteland of Mercanto Valley leaves it uninhabitable. The traumatized survivors escape to the high mountains of the Capucin wilderness. As they begin to rebuild their lives, the survivors must get along not only with each other, but with long-established communities in the hills. They must also deal with remnants of the cult that brought about the destruction, and who now seek to gain power over all of them.
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The survivors learn they are not alone after the apocalyptic Destruction when an intriguing traveler comes through a secret tunnel carved into the steep Capucin mountains. He tells them they must learn to love again to heal their wounded souls, and to repair the damage done to the earth by their greed and neglect. He teaches them how to use music as a universal language to bring peace to their ravaged lands and to each other. |
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A year after the Great Sickness forced the villages of River Valley into isolation, the quarantine is finally lifted. Aquia, the adopted son of Anahita’s spiritual leader, and Yewen, a former monk from the Monastery of the Trees, are sent to tabulate the living and the dead, and to gather their stories for the official ledgers.
But the world they were sent to record no longer exists. They discover entire villages died from the sickness, while others survived by isolating themselves even from each other. The further they travel, the more they learn about the survivors and their villages through their art, their music, and their spiritual changes. And soon, their experiences begin to change them as well, and they start to question everything they once knew as true. |
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Poems about relationships, passionate encounters, moments of desire, foolish choices, wise interludes, the pain of loss, the healing balm of remembrance, and the enduring power of love. More than anything these poems teach us that love writes its own story, and memory is a fragile butterfly trapped in the wistfulness of time. |
" You traced the line of my soul |
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