On Lake Muurn,
if you dare to look a bit beyond your nose,
to open your eyes
and listen with your heart
you might hear someone singing.
That singing was as erratic
as it was Beautiful.
The man then begins walking,
running,
running until his lungs burn
and his legs buckled under his own weight.
But he never got any closer.
He kept going to Lake Muurn everyday,
until the singing stopped.
But he kept hearing it wherever he went.
The city, the lake.
It got more intense when he got at the sea.
Was the song all on his head?
When he asked his companions,
his crewmates,
even his wife,
everyone simply shook their heads.
"What are you talking about, honey?"
"Do you need to get checked out by a healer?"

[Author's note: This is a work of fiction and, as far as I'm aware,
there's not a voice at Lake Muurn and no real person who hears voices no
one else can.]

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Mayan, in the year 932 AF.