Lion Head Mesa break my pencil on your empty poem

I see. The lord murmurs, thinking on this errand he had been given to complete. Come, He would beckon the man, to turn and move back towards the jutting tower of red rock. You may rest away from the sun in our greeting room. I can seek our Queen whilst you wait. 

Then, at the mention of home beyond and the mention of the strain of journey it was, It is not. Yet still easier for some then others. I've grown quite accustom to the condition. He speaks with a pride. Now, giving a chuckle at his own expense, You'd never catch me trying to scale mountains. I imagine it wouldn't take me long to fall off a cliff. Yet not to my death, of course. I'd never get high enough to accomplish that.