"Wouldst thou but listen to me, lord, I believe thou shalt be convinced in this matter."  These words were addressed by a dignified, silver-haired elf to an equally dignified elf-lord, with hair of midnight and eyes of grey.  The elf-lord frowned slightly and stopped his troubled pacing.

"Speak then, Deyn," he ordered the other.  Deyn, who was obviously a counselor, spoke earnestly.

Rising upward to the sky,
Flicking black tongues of smoke,
like nightmare serpents
the village burns.
All of us have left now,
Only our flickering ghosts of flame remain
The dark ones hiss in fiendish laughter
As they divide the treasures we left behind
We can never go back -
The flames reach too high
They swallow everything -
Homes, hope, dreams, memory
Soon there is nothing left but ashes
And coals, still hungry,
Desiring to feed on our lost history

I'm extending it to five parts. I hope no one decides to strangle me (*cough Bridget *coughcough OFG*).

Part 3:

Lyre was released two days after Tifa's death, leaving an extremely unhappy Aurelius behind in the Healers' Tent. The battle still raged on, and Oriole (who was released within hours of her arrival) informed Lyre that the People were on the winning side.

What am I?

I snatch your words, rattle them, and banish them to silence.

I fill sails, drive waves,

Pin clouds in the sky.

I play in the trees and flirt with the rain,

Singing songs no one can capture.

I am like a thread of time-

You cannot cage me, cannot hold me…

Yet you feel me.

I am strong.

I am gentle.

Flee my fury!

Embrace my caress.

I am unpredictable,

Flighty,

Fleet.

I raise the sun from its bed and send it home again.

My mind is too changeable;

The old man sitting in front of the mountain chalet leaned back and watched an eagle soaring lazily above the mountain peak. He closed his eyes and listened for a moment to the wind hissing softly through the trees. He folded his rough hands across his broad chest and leaned back against the rough sides of the house. He was deep in thought when a light touch on his shoulder brought his to his feet. A slight woman with graying hair leaned over him, a soft smile on her weathered face. He smiled back and she seated herself at his side.

His feet clapped the wooden plank down towards me.  “What be your name, boy?”  Frantically I thought.  “I don’t know.”  I don’t know!  Why had I said that, of all things?

“What on Sila’s earth means that?” he asked.

Eustace's house.
Ed and Lucy are sitting on the edge of Lucy's bed looking at a painting of a ship.
Ed: Look's like a Narnian ship.
Lucy: Yeah. Thought Aslan said he'd take us back. Oh well, I guess he forgot.
Eustace comes in.
Eust: Narnia is'nt real.
Ed: Uh huh.
Eust: Listen to this poem I made up about Narnia: Narnia, Narnia, I long for thee, I wish thy beaches and oceans to see. But, alas, since you aren't real and genuine, thinking about you is really a sin. Ha ha ha!
Ed: Shut up, dingbat.

In my earliest dream, I was a bat, gliding on huge leather canopies through the velvet night. I still soar with bats in the silver twilight—before I fall asleep.