Those that use words like a game are sometimes at liberty to take those words and use them in ways that do not satisfy any true goal other than the entertainment of those that use them.
The quintessential truth of Streel is that the heart that thinks too much talks in circles and therefore thinks in circles as well, which always brings it back to the point that it is in its essence a heart that thinks far, far, far too much, but simply can’t relinquish because a circle is a splendid thing to be relished and cherished and covered in relish so that it can be thought of far too much.
I was looking for a truth about life, but it seemed that I was, as a product of being me, the outside. I had never heard of the town of Farlin and was headed there solely in the hopes of finding new business. Times were hard and so was the sky above me as I rolled onto the first dusty street and as I looked around at the wooden, cabin homes, I felt a strange, eerie bleakness in my heart as if the world was about to swell up from beneath me and inhale everything, or perhaps just me, or something that pertained to me. There was nary a single person out on the streets of the town and occasional winds were kicking up dust in the place of people. The sky continued to weigh down and I felt it strange that in spite of its savage glow, there was no rain – only a sense of weight and of time being consumed by something that was far deeper and more painful than I yet knew. And so there I sat, on horseback, watching a town that was locked in a moment, a moment consumed by some unknown emotion, a moment from which it could not escape.
Sitting there, I began to speak with Sir Vantes, saying, “Well, what do you think, boy? Should we go in?”