The book before you forever bears the scent of the countless campfires.
Campfires extinguished come early morning, billowing heavy smoke unto the pages.
You now sit right before one such extinguished flame, smoke trailing around you,
blanketing you up to your chest. The sky above is grey and
muted, the air is chilly and still, and has a certain sweetness to it...
You've grown accustomed to the weight of the book in your hand, and you idly thumb at
its cover's embossing. the raised metal is smooth, and frigid to the touch. You
adjust your blanket, and lean steady against the tree facing the
lightning-struck stump. Resolved, centered, you crack the volume in your hand
and dive into its midst. First are the recordings. Now-familiar etches from the
tree, copied patiently in sheer
inks of iron-gull
and gritty inks of soot. The
quality of the work, however, more than made up for the quality of the
materials. A sublime testament to the tree—which may very well outlast the
etched tree—and serve future generations to come. The testament of the tree
comprises less than a third of the book. Beyond it, the author's original
sketches reveal precious moments from the journey they took to arrive at the
lightning-struck tree. Lush
wind-swept meadows
, golden days and
silver nights, lonely tea and dancing fire— just like
yours. Especially enchanting is their depiction of the sea, aching to depict
their every morsel of love for the foaming tides, breaking on sandy shores. Your
friend from across the eons spent many cloudy days sitting on
that cloudy coast
,
and their inevitable departure tore their heart more than mere etches can
convey. Their ashen, grieving eyes flash in your mind, and for a moment they are
all that you can think of. For a very long moment you stare at the clouds, and
dream of one day bringing this book back to those seaside crags. But first—this
book has more to show you—and you set your eyes back on this this
crimson tome.