Luyện nghe bài hát Song Of The Ancient

The I perceive as I wander through the woods through the
dim light of dawn, lilts as it?s carried on shifting winds
the stillness of this early morn.

"Upon the hill, east of the woods, the old man rapt in
gazing, contemplative and lost in himself. His old hands,
fingers long and thin, but rugged, the wooden staff. It
was familiar in his crooked yet strong. How many times?
How often had he before this stood on this place, lost within
himself; rapt in reflection? A breeze swelled about him
ruffling his hair and wisps of beard, with age and wisdom of
years. He had seen much, experienced much and known
in the Hidden Lands. But was before; before the Fall.
Glancing downward, a sea of activity, the forest with life
and lives. But lives are a doorway wherethrough can be
the nature of the Ancient; the one who abides within
the Hidden Lands. The old man thinks 'I am not what
was intended but intent am become.' And so, in servitude
to human heart, he made forfeit that which was his; the
for the tangible, the for the mortal."

By now I am by the surreality of the tale, viewing
in the old man, and at last it dawns and I realise the very
nature of mankind, and of myself, and I lay to cry.

"In his youth, the Old man the Garensword, but not now.
And yet, the legend holds one day, Man shall wield the
blade once more to the conquest of nations and
strongholds and powers this realm."

I raise my eyes as the song to an end and a stranger
approaches as though a friend. Extending her hand I accept
it and rise. Standing, she into my eyes. "De-nyl, we have a
long way to go. is so much, too much, that I have to show you."

"If the truth is what you seek, it is only with the Ancient
is never seen. He remains within the Hidden Lands and may
only be reached with the Garensword in hand. Let us depart from place."

I was relieved to learn that I not be alone in my quest. For
that day, Destiny became my guide. I my falcon, the bird
high and free above the forest canopy. And yet there
remained within my heart the lingering memory of that Fall;
the wretched of mankind and of myself. Am I who I think I am?
Am I even