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.: Энциклопедия » D » Drudkh » Кров у Наших Криницях (Blood In Our Wells)

In the eternity, where the light glows, the wheels of time spin slowly, it weaves the motley carpet with gold.
Longs passes make our invisible engine tick. Patterns blink on the capricious cloth, and the weight is always balanced by the one who will gather the ripe harvest in a stook, measure and bless.
The darkness covers and fights us, only at time the lightning takes a piece of the patter out of the dark for a moment and awaken from the oblivion we see a fragment: intricate, fearful or clear contours of life.
We squeeze just seed in our hands, we don’t see the groves that will grow out of them and will rustle their green branches.
We just drink muddy water which was brought into this world by a terrible time...

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