Luyện nghe bài hát Song Of The Ancient

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

"Upon the hill, of the woods, the old man stood rapt in
gazing, contemplative and lost in himself. His old hands,
fingers long and thin, but rugged, grasped the staff. It
was familiar in his hand; yet strong. How many times?
How often had he this stood on this very place, lost within
himself; in reflection? A light breeze swelled about him
his hair and wisps of beard, grey with age and wisdom of
years. He had much, experienced much and known friends
in the Lands. But that was before; before the Fall.
Glancing downward, a sea of activity, the forest teeming life
and lives. But lives are merely a wherethrough can be
expressed the nature of the the one who abides within
the Lands. The old man thinks 'I am become not what
was intended but through 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 intoxicated by the surreality of the tale,
myself in the old man, and at last it dawns and I realise the
of mankind, and of myself, and I lay down to cry.

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

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

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

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