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I stare at my feet
My home where I should be
Magic is dead here
Alagaësia calls me
I speak in the ancient tongue
The fourth and final poem in my Inheritance Cycle-inspired tanka series.
A quiet return to what still calls me—magic, language, and the self I thought I’d lost.
If you’ve read any part of this journey, thank you. It means more than you know.

– Lisa 🐉

— The End —