"Hunter, put down your gun! It is not the slain which accuse you, but the silence, the emptiness. You blaspheme.
I see the one who dreamed it all as he rides beneath the stars. Silently he enters the forest. Each twig, each fallen leaf, a world beyond all knowing. Through the ragged foliage the splintered light scatters gems of fancy; huge heads emerge, the remains of stolen giants.
'My horse! My land! My kingdom!' The babble of idiots.
...Kindness, goodness, peace and mercy. Neither beginning nor end. The round. The eternal round.
And ever the sea recedes. Moon drag. To the west, new land, new figures of earth. Dreamers, outlaws, forerunners. Advancing toward the world of long ago and far away, the world of yesterday and tomorrow. The world within the world."