So it was hard to say how much the Island would have shrunk were it traversed in the saddle. Nor did anyone in the Bury clan, nor any of his neighbors. It would have taken much less time on horseback, but Bran, the fifteenth son of a mussel diver, did not own a horse. In order to cross it from the north end to the south, you would have to travel from one Sunday to the next Sunday west to east, from Sunday to Friday-well, maybe to Thursday vespers, as long as you had long legs, there was no snow in the mountains, no rain in the valleys, no marauding robbers on the roads, and no sorcerers or other monsters in the wilderness. It was written by me, Radek Rak from the City of Four Mounds, to give you a moment of joy.īran Bury lived centuries ago on the Island, the largest island in the world. It is the story of Bran Bury and how he became the Spiked Knight, and how he got that name. Our story stems from others, older and stranger than itself. May Nuada in his silver hand bring us a leaf from the tree of stories, older than the oldest gods, a tree that no one planted, and no one can say when it grew, and there is nothing that is not a part of it. May we be led by Osian, Taliesin of the Shining Brow, and Nimian of the Lake. Honor to the great Dagda and His descendants to the fortieth generation. Glory be to the One Triune God and to all His saints. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
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