The grass under Vardamar's feet was smooth and short, as if it had been mown or shaven. The eaves of the Forest behind were clipped, and trim as a hedge. The path was now plain before him, well-tended and bordered with stone. It wound up on to the top of a grassy knoll, now grey under the pale starry night; and there, still high above him on a further slope, he saw the twinkling lights of a house.
Ak!...16miles of Tom's house to go. His singing is like the music of an ice-cream truck, it just plays over and over in your head! [img]smilies/tongue.gif[/img]
On a side note, this is my last post as a Haunting Spirit, with my next post I will be a Wight!
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Strength without wisdom falls by its own weight.
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