I am clear and ancient knowledge, tested and proven, wrinkled by strong, slow but solid. In my eyes, the faces blur into each, the boys are men, the men are corpses, the corpses give shade and my forehead is burning in the sun, as I look at the boys once again. Without any need of word or exclamation, I know of the singular impulse that runs through all the ones that now run around me. The tall man that is my mirror. The young girl that is my hands. There is so much I could say, so many tales to tell, so many burdens to unravel. But my years have taught me silence and my silence has turned into silky glimmering music, the kind that slides away between the chirping of the birds and the creaking of the branches in the wind. With a smile, I rush into their chest and push open the doors that remain shut in their stubbornness. With a little laugh, I can pull out tears from the most stoic warriors. I have travelled beyond words and I live in the land of shadows, without fear, without pity, without shame.