Time was spinning numerous threads for its tapestry, some to be woven together, some to entangle or fray, others merely to perish and pass away.

“speechless, castaway and wrya spellbound oddity am Imy feet are locked upon the…”

“Nay, it ain't got fleas, and 'tis a girl.”

“Riding upon the back of a waterhorse - what mortal had ever stayed in such a se…”

“The raven spread out its glossy wings and departed like hope.”