Yes, for once again Kalesh was no longer quite himself, or perhaps still he was, but he was something more, too, something so much more. From somewhere far, far away and achingly long ago gusted up fitful little flashes of memories which he knew he could not know. They were like the crinkled leaves of some ancient autumn swept out of the deep, dry recesses of a forgotten cave and borne higher, ever higher, past sheer craggy peaks and into the same sun that had shone since the very forging of the world, and they carried him with them. There were wide vistas sweeping down, down, down through far-spaced puffs of gleaming cloud that sent broad shadows drifting across a beautifully hazy land of greenery and plenty even farther below. Hammers rang, and sparks flew with making, and there was laug
