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the Winding Rivers By David Benjamin Kent INTRODUCTION  Smoke and ash filled their lungs. The Interpreters patiently stood in wait beside their blazing pyre. Silent and unmoving, they peered out at the moonlight dancing upon the shimmering water like statues chiseled from stone. Like many evils in the world, they were not grotesque or frightening in appearance, but beautiful and pleasing to the eye. Their long, silken hair shone of resplendent silver and swayed with the brisk night breeze. Both shared the same enchanting blue eyes and wore matching white robes thick enough to withstand the chill of the late hour. Hoods drawn and hands clasped beneath their folds, they were illuminated only by the growing flames as they rose higher and higher above them; stretching toward the sky like thin, spindly tendrils reaching out to touch the stars. A cool mist intermingled with black, billowing smoke as it choked the very air around them. The night itself felt alive and raucous with anticipation; the usual chirps and stirrings of nocturnal creatures replaced by the violent crackle and popping of fire, and the raging waters before them. The Winding Rivers seemed particularly angry this eve. Loud and fierce, waves crashed and slammed against the riverbank with a thunderous boom. It was only fitting. Change was coming. They knew it to be true more and more with each waking moment. Everywhere, darkness swallowed up the light. The Interpreters could feel it. They sensed a familiar presence long before they spotted the first ships approaching off in the distance. Together, they smiled. Their beacon had been spotted. Sailing forth, the Eastern armada would soon reach the pair and make berth. The turn of the tide was upon them. “And so it begins, Sister.” “And so it begins, Brother.”