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In the forest of Aereng,
There the lost city,
Hides a temple resplendent in steel.
The blades of a myriad,
Adorning the walls,
The hilts of by-gone glory
Lay in waiting,
Grotto guarded.

The soldiers of Am and Beryl,
First hunters of death,
Also finders of the fallen,
Bring with great care
Each hilt, each blade
Once more to its birthplace

The Temple of Swords has not forgotten
The ancient battle,
The acolytes of Thorn.
The Temple of Swords is not forgotten;
The orphaned blade
Still longs for its home.

Many such inscriptions were to be found in the Den of Long Teeth. Each was written in the language of each of the Four, or so it seemed to unwise eyes.

I did not mean to find it, for I am not of the Watchful. The Old Forests of Aereng are not mine to prowl, but Tailbiter makes no such distinction. Tailbiter, and not I, found the Den of Long Teeth. He knows the marks of the four Hunters and their kits, but reads them not.

The scent was cold as a killing storm. None of the four Hunters, nor their Kits, remained to be found. I returned to the Temple on two legs to make more of all that Tailbiter had found most strange.

- Lareth dunTelro

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