Three children The eldest fenced in The second a daredevil The third a blossom Traipsing across the world Their lives have been swirled In a whirlpool with a nameless Who's not a fool Anger, hurt, and strife The eldest fights with knife Though strong and tough He's not always rough Claw, tooth, and nail The second is besieged like hail No longer to walk on human feet Oh what a sad sight to greet Delicate, kind, and sweet The third would rather fight than eat With her song she soars Though she's small, she still roars A mighty battle Within and without None will ever dare To back out Like cattle in fight They push with all their might Either side anxious to win Each anxious to know when At last, the battle is done The battle is won To Anneira they go To vanquish the last of their foe A light, a burning light It washes over fur Making it whole and bright Transfiguring it back to life Lying there, still as stone The second realizes it's done His brother hand given his life To stop all this war and strife A sacrfice nobly done Because of him, victory was won Laid in a cellar deep The second awaits his promise to keep Healed by the flame No longer wanting to blame All seek new lives And to do good they strive Life is not perfect But there can be light in it And in our lives To do good we should strive Well, that was easier than I thought it would be! It just came to me. I never knew I had knack for poetry, but apparently I do! Do any of you write poetry? Would you tell me honestly what you think?

A B C D E F G H I J K L M Z Y X W V U T S R Q P O N An example: I'm going to spell Janner Wingfeather in this queer dialect. Qzoovi Drosuvzhtvi spells Janner Wingfeather. Do you get it? I'll give further explain in the comments if needed

“Do I go there when I die?” The Maker didn’t answer. He turned to Kalmar. “HOW DO YOU THINK YOU COULD FIX THE FANGS?” “I don’t know exactly, but I figured since they could be fanged in the first place, the could be un-fanged.” Kalmar chuckled nervously. “HOW.” “I know this sounds silly, sir, but couldn’t they sing the song of ancient stones with like a human in the box and then they would be human again?” “WHAT DO YOU THINK?” Kalmar was getting a little frustrated. Why was The Maker only giving me questions in return to my questions? “I think it would work,” he proclaimed boldly. “THEN YOU HAVE MADE THE RIGHT DECISION.” The Maker turned away. “YOU MUST LEAVE NOW. YOUR SIBLINGS ARE ANXIOUS.” The Maker disappeared through a doorway and Kalmar ran after Him. “Wait!” he cried, skidding to a standstill. “I don’t know which way back to the entrance.” Kalmar looked sheepishly at his wolfish feet. The Maker pointed right with His arm and continued walking down His passageway. Kalmar watched Him go regretfully. It had been nice but not quite what he had expected. Oh well. He turned, ran to the entrance, and climbed out of the glowing fane. Janner had kept his eyes peeled on the entrance the whole time Kalmar had been gone. Now he saw his head coming out the opening and he awakened Leeli, who had fallen asleep on his lap. Leeli jumped up and ran to meet Kalmar, her sweet blue eyes full of joy and questions. Leeli embraced Kal and smiled up at him. “How’d it go?” Kalmar didn’t answer. “Let’s get the fane shut.” The three Jewels of Anniera stood in their places and Leeli started by playing the right tune on her whistle harp. Janner recited the words and Kalmar traced the symbols in the air. The Fane shut with a resounding click. The End!!

“Your majesty,” Kalmar ventured after a long silence. “I don’t know what you’re saying. I don’t know what to do,” he ended despairingly. The Maker turned and looked deep into the wolf’s blue eyes. Kalmar felt like he had been turned upside down and emptied into a goblet like a pitcher of water. He could hide nothing from The Maker. He knew The Maker saw deep into his soul and He knew He saw everything he had ever done; good or bad. “WHAT DO YOU DOUBT, MY CHILD?” Kalmar scrunched up his furry eyebrows, deep in thought. “I don’t know, My Lord.” “YOU DOUBT YOURSELF. DON’T YOU?” “I—I—don’t know,” Kalmar stammered. The Maker stood up and walked to a pathway through the garden, his white robe swirling around him like fog on a misty morning. Kalmar watched as His robe brushed the bright flemory flowers growing along the path. The flowers swayed gently as if brushed by the gentlest breeze. Kalmar earnestly wished he had his T.H.A.G.S sketchbook. It was impossible to catch every detail in life with just a stick of lead and a piece of paper, but Kalmar did the best he could. The Maker beckoned for Kalmar to join Him and Kalmar bounded up from his seat to do so. The Maker swept His arm out, gesturing to the far off river and trees growing along the bank. “DO YOU SEE THAT RIVER?” “Yes, sir.” “SOMEDAY YOU WILL LIVE THERE. WHEN YOU ARE OLD AND GRAY.” “I will?” Kalmar asked incredulously. The Maker nodded. “YOU WILL.” More tomorrow! (hopefully)

Janner and Leeli watched quietly as Kalmar lowered himself into the Fane of Fire. "Be careful!" Leeli called out, watching anxiously as Kalmar's head disappeared over the edge of the fane Kalmar's voice came back muffled, "Don't worry; I'll be fine." Leeli ooched up close to Janner and laid her head on his shoulder. Janner placed his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her gently. Leeli looked into Janner's blue eyes and smiled. "I love you, brother." Janner smiled back and kissed her gently on the forehead. "I love you too, sister Janner smiled back and kissed her gently on the forehead. "I love you too, sister." Janner squeezed her again and Leeli snuggled up with a contented sigh. . . . Kalmar lowered himself into the fane carefully. What will He look like? He wondered, absently fiddling with the scabbard of the sword in his belt. Kalmar walked down a glowing passageway from the entrance, looking around with wondering eyes. The bright flowers and glowing stones lent an an atmosphere of calm and he relaxed, running his hands up and down his chilly arms–for he was cold with nervousness. He entered the main chamber and drew in a deep breath. Here he was; no turning back now. He was ready—or at least, he thought he was. Kalmar looked around. There appeared to be no one in the room and he found himself peering anxiously into large cracks and crevices big enough to hid a man. Suddenly, his cold body was flooded with warmth. He was here. Kalmar knew it; He was here somewhere: The Maker was nearby and very close. Kalmar backed up against a wall and closed his trembling eyes. After a few seconds he opened them again and looked around. Still no one in the room, but he knew he wasn’t alone. The Maker was still in here or very close by. He peeped around an edge into an adjacent room. It was empty too. Then, from behind him, Kalmar heard a noise. He whirled around and stared in awe as shining figure entered from another adjoining room. Realizing he should be bowing, he dropped to his knees as The Maker approached. The Maker stood in front of Kalmar for some seconds and then spoke in a voice that radiated power and compassion. “ARISE, KING KALMAR.” Kalmar stayed on his knees. “I’m not worthy to stand in your presence, my Lord,” he whispered. “WHO IS WORTHY TO STAND IN MY PRESENCE, MY SON?” “No one, Your Majesty,” Kalmar again whispered. The Maker chuckled. “COME AND WALK WITH ME.” Kalmar looked up in wonder. He hadn’t expected laughter. This was an interesting turnout, for sure. And did He say walk with Him? Like Dwane and Gladys did? Had Father ever walked with The Maker? Kalmar’s thoughts tumbled through his head at an alarming rate and he pressed his hand to his forehead to stop the throbbing. “COME, YOUNG ONE, WE MUST TALK AND THE HOUR GROWS LATE.” The Maker’s reached His large hand down and helped Kalmar to his feet. Kalmar hastily brushed his slightly dirty vest off and adjusted his cloak and his moon cloak pin. The Maker walked swiftly down a passageway to the left of the main chamber. “FOLLOW ME.” Kalmar followed Him as fast as he could on his shorter legs. The Maker slowed down so Kalmar could catch up. Kalmar caught up and slowed down, his heartbeat racing. It was a special thing to walk beside The Maker. While Kalmar knew every High King of Anniera had done so at one time; he had never dreamed of doing it himself. The Maker glanced down at the boy-wolf beside Him. Kalmar looked up at the same time and flushed under The Maker’s strong gaze. “I—I— “ he started to stutter. “I’m sorry; I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to resist.” “COME. WE HAVE MUCH TO TALK ABOUT.” “Yes, sir.” The Maker led the way to a bench made out of the glowing stone all around the fane. Bright vines with morning glories festooned the bench and made it look like a bench of flowers. The Maker sat down on the bench and left room for Kalmar. Kalmar hesitated and The Maker spoke again. “SIT. DO NOT BE AFRAID. I HAVE YET TO SEE A HUMAN WHO HAS NOT FAILED.” Kalmar sat on the bench, keeping as far away from The Maker as he could without falling off the bench. The Maker chuckled again. “DO NOT BE AFRAID OF ME. I LOVE YOU, KALMAR, THOUGH YOU FAIL A MILLION TIMES; I WILL STILL LOVE YOU.” Kalmar felt tears slipping down his furry cheeks and he bowed his head. The Maker looked off into the distance and Kalmar realized they were in a garden and in the distance was a sparkling river. “YOU NEEDED ME?” The Maker spoke again and Kalmar jumped. “Uh, yeah. The fangs. Is there some way I can de-fang them, uh, un-fang them?” “I THINK YOU KNOW THE ANSWER.” Kalmar didn’t know what to say so he remained silent. He fiddled with his cloak pin and waited for The Maker to speak again. (I'm so sorry the first version was wrong! I hope this is better!)