To the North we seek, the silence of the seas.
To the South we hear, calls of the unknown winter.
To the West we see, the light of truth.
To the East we wonder.
To the North, silence rings. Silence drifts like ice in the sea, know by man and spirits, but never truly seen.
To the South, cold is gone. With dance and music, silence not common. Winter winds long silenced summers warmth.
To the West, the true light. Of mans curse to the world, and of mans gentle words. Of words and spells, we truly seek.
To the East, wonders. Wonders of the past, hopes for the future, and silence of the present.
To the North.
Words are dead.
To the South.
Words are alive.
To the West.
Mans curse is seen.
To the East.
Wonders never cease.
Directions are different for many reasons, many of which we may never know of. But somewhere, in a place lost to man someone knows. Someone knows of the directions for what the truly are. Not a sign on a map, not words, not symbols. But as people, objects and as a curse.
But where we wonder, well only the directions know.