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“Valley of the Damned (# 1 The 'Halla) As she sat teary, another story arose, Young and full of vigor hewed with manymanymany years of repose. “Comrades” she brightened, “listen again to my tale, Of courage and power, and how evil can never prevail. —Valkyrie Kari, Saint of the Blade Chapter 15, Valley of the Damned Footnote: In one form or another, everybody hears but very few listen. It is a lost art. Like developing a taste for classical art, music or fine wine, listening is a skill, a ‘taste’ to develop, an “acquired sound.” Valley of the Damned et al.”

“Chimes at the Edge of Hearing (2011) Chimes in the heavens sound so fine, Whither does it go; how it chimes the time. Tumultuous river of colored tinselly sounds, Their music brasses forth, it has no bounds. Tinkle clackle tinke koo, How infinite the melody with notes so few. Chimes clanging silent at the edge of hearing, Does it not sound so jingly and endearing? Klankle ping chinkle cree, Quite the sound of discordant harmony. Pakkle kikkle ringly kat, Chimes echo out; they drift cackling back. A cacophony of clingles, pims and tinkle-ets, Chimes shinkle loud at the crescendo of their octets. Pakickle tamtankle jjingling kites, They fly into darkness on the clatter of midnight. Chimes symphonic at the coming black storm, Upon the shrieks their shimmering rrrings are born. Sounds and silences; the glistening chimes adorn, Haunting images of sounds so distant and forlorned. Cymbal they together; the sound of crackly glass, They remind of the times and rattles of the past. Metals on metals trinklelink clapping down the time, Their clittering rhythms broke, raw and refined. Concerto of jangles jinkles and dings, See their sound, how pleasant they dream. Off they go, winds klickle on smooth breeze, And chinkle and pinkle through my melodic tree. dlaurent”

“LaForche for his standing, understood Christina’s seditious intents, and for that, he monitored and hated the rude Vixen of Woe. Innumerable times they had quarresquabbled, sometimes very loudly, both during and after class. Christina’s wit, as fast as her blade, for the most part won the scathingly bitter, single-edged dialogues, much to the chagrin and embarrassment of LaForche. It was no big secret that trying to deal with his Anti-Mr. Spock logic was like trying to cross a baking salt-flat desert mid-summer with nothing to drink or eat except stale crackers and a big jar of out-dated defunct Peter Pan peanut butter, its original “crunch” now being only pasty sand mouth goo. She often asked herself how could you argue against no mind. It was an unassuming study in stupility to say the least. —Christina Brickley, The Lady and the Samurai”