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III. The Sign of the Arrow

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  1. A short bit of song that the minstrel Guesare repeats to himself in THE SIGN OF THE ARROW:

    Travelers all, we wear
    the dust of yesterday.
    The rain will fall at last,
    and gently wash away
    each fragment of the past,
    the long road’s clinging clay.
    Travelers all, we fare
    yet upon our way.

    A funeral prayer and response:

    As an arrow flies my soul,
    into darkness, into night;
    none whom I have left behind
    sees the ending of its flight.

    Flies to Kamat, ever watchful,
    waiting in the realm of light.

    As a comet through the sky,
    burning with creation’s flame;
    as an arrow flies my soul,
    without substance, without name.

    Flies to Kamat, ever waiting,
    to the one from whence we came.

    A campfire song from Guesare, later in THE SIGN OF THE ARROW:

    A cup of wine may make me jolly
    But two can turn me melancholy,
    And taking three is simple folly
    For I’ll fall asleep, by golly!

    I’ll have one for my stomach’s sake,
    Though several more seems a mistake;
    Too many cupfuls surely make
    Anybody’s tummy ache!

    Good food is certainly a sign
    To pour another cup of wine,
    So bring enough when we may dine
    To fill up yours and fill up mine!

    A cup of wine just might enhance
    The mood that leads us to romance;
    But sometimes we make an advance
    When we shouldn’t take the chance!

    Later in SIGN, Ansa sings this song:

    Moon of silver, sun of gold,
    I who was young now grow old.
    Daylight dims, night grows cold,
    Should I fear death, I who was bold?

    Life is short, forever is long,
    I tried to do right, often did wrong.
    Will is weak, wine was strong,
    I would forget the words to my song.

    Moon of silver, queen of night,
    I knew you once, grown full and bright,
    And madly I danced, by your light,
    But those who danced with me fled from sight.

    Last fading stars, by dawn swept away,
    I, as you, may no longer stay.
    Yet you return, come end of day;
    Where I might go, I can not say.

    Every road walked, every tale told;
    All I then loved I could not hold.
    Sun of morning, spun of gold,
    I who was young have grown old.

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