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| Initiation Snow falls. The land lies in silence, forlorn and grey. From his room a boy watches the flakes dancing in the air. The fire cracks. Suddenly he feels a hand on his shoulder. "Here," says his mother. "He wanted you to have this. When you're old enough." The boy's eyes widen. My father, he thinks, but he doesn't ask. There would be no answer, there never was. Awestruck he opens the book. Letters in red and gold and lions and unicorns. And Balian finds himself dreaming of faraway places, of golden turrets and tall spires under a cloudless, cerulean sky. |