Something about the wind had bothered him for a long time; not so much the sound of it, or the way it brushed across his skin, but the mystery of where it had come from. The wind that rushed through his window, blowing his curtains willy nilly into the nightıs darkness was the same wind that had blown across the land. It had blown through ancient trees, and wild fields of tall grasses, and through snaking fences that tried to hem the grass in. He thought that, in some way, the wind was telling him of a world much larger that he had ever seen... or imagined. In some way, it was trying to tell him of a world different than anything he had ever known, but he could not understand the wind.

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