"Her song holds no sway in these old trees. They stir with a different sound. Stop running, child, and you may just hear it: the wind in the boughs, like the billowing of vast wings; its keening shriek, like that of a beast in pain. You may yet hear it, if you just stop running. You may yet sing with them.

"Yes, little princeling. Catch your breath and raise your voice and sing with the children of the night, even as they catch you.  A choir of screams, in harmony!"

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