Book: Ritual

This kind of was until the end. No rage was leading him to something more than rage, huge and monster available. And, realizing this, the descendant of Yucca for the first time in my life scared.
Not the dragon - the dragon has died. He was afraid of what motivated them. Turning the fear of death - Holy, all-wielding, fear - into a laughing stock.

Since then, as erected the vaults of heaven,
What meaner thorough winter and summer?
Oh, I know, it is the curiosity of the princesses!

Born month - curved claw
The world's first dragon.
Night insatiable. The sky is bottomless.

Afternoon the air trembles
And the sea yawns in the rocks.
Hello, sadness.

Only here is a man who flew on a dragon, can not live according to the Palace Rituals.
Die.

I rise to the heavens, and my shadow lies in the rocks, small as the pupil of a mouse... I fall to the ground, and my shadow greets me as my brother.

- You think poetry is like? asked Arman tone provocateur.
Utah sprang, eyes blazing passionately:
Is what you cannot see, only feel...

I tie in the stifling network of Rituals.
Free born free I was not
Without you. Show me the sky.

After hundreds of nights, to the last morning stretches.
Don't call me. I call
Is.

Lonely the sky was hidden in clouds face.
Probably, with grief -
Tired grimace in the mirror of the sea.

The sun is a shepherd without a flock.
Morning gold, the evening is copper.
And it seems that it is not necessary
Neither remember nor regret.