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Quote by Anthony T. Hincks

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Anthony T. Hincks

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“Esmeralda’s breath caught, a vision flashed: Mack jumping in front of Prince Peter, his face set and determined, men scattering and shouting. “It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to Peccioli, Esmeralda.” Esmeralda tried to control her expression as the vision changed. She saw Mack bursting into a room, finding young Prince Peter contorted in pain, suspended above his bed. Mack bellowed a Scripture, and the black smoke departed, but the stench of sulfur lingered. Her eyes grew huge as she whispered, “The black smoke… you fought it…you saved the Prince from it.” Mack jerked his hand away. The vision cleared and Esmeralda looked at him in horror. “I’m so sorry. I should not have said that.” Mack, turning to Thaddeus, drawled, “Well, she is a surprise. You brought me a seer?” —Esmeralda ben Claude and Mack ben Robert”

“It was clear that Meredith was special. Extraordinary, like Redbud had been. A conjurer. And then there was Cliff. The first seer in the family in five generations. He could see snatches of the future, but also people's emotions and the hidden qualities of things. They, not Lee, would be the ones to perpetuate the tradition and continue Belva's work. Lee would always be there to support them and to spend a day or a night around the fire. But she didn't want to dedicate her life to it. Lee had started looking at the counseling graduate program at the university a few hours away. She may not be powerful like her mother or Meredith, but she could roam around a person's internal landscape. She wanted to help people like her mother. She knew how seemingly impossible it was to treat addiction, and that was a challenge she wanted to meet. The quest for knowledge was where she'd thrived all those years ago, and she wanted to return to it. That was where she belonged. And now she would use it to serve her community, as generations of Bucks had done before her.”

“Over the past few years one change has taken over my writing. It's that I no longer write from thought. Almost everything I write today is the result of subconscious grinding. In fact, these days I make it a point to not write from thought, particularly because things written from thought never quite embody the magic of my naturally flowing spring of words. Initially my writings contained occasional natural gems, bridged by materials from thought, particularly my early works of prose. But nowadays, it's like some invisible force does the actual writing - the complete writing, I only take dictations. Perhaps I've gotten lazy, or perhaps the outside has gotten lazy, for the inside has come alive. The thinker has given in, for the seer has come alive. This ain't mysticism, just the genius of nature. I ain't a mystic, just nature at its peak.”

“You were forged for more. The shadow nears. What has begun must be ended,” the Seer foretold, her eyes distant, twitching as if she saw something I couldn’t. “The fallen shall rise, and with him, ruin—Dagaz shall burn, your bond shall break. Protect what breathes, what bleeds, what binds. Alone, you stand. For now. In time, your other half shall awaken. Beyond the veil, darkness stirs. Stop the fallen…or all is lost.”