The bleating's of the arrogant ones fell on parchment like thick droplets of rain. There they mixed with the scrawls of ink, manifesting themselves as painted mutterings of the untruth. The Strolen lord called for the disagrea and with their muting powers they cursed and banished the arrogant ones.
But Non Senz prevailed as it always would. The devine ones halted creation as best they could but it was like a swollen river about to burst its banks. The ceremanic, claybeer stein's moved onward, unstoppable, unpredictable. Wave after wave they came. And there, standing at the Point of Quill they appeared. The two were never one and the one would never be too, until the day when the two could join as one. Many moons sailed across the sky, many winters failed, the snow and desert dwelt together in the bosom of extracted stanza . Looming from this, time of no times, emerging from the blotchulisim of ink, sap and bleatings, the Natter Trilogy arose, formed and tumesced until it could no more. The natter matter convulsed, ruptured and spewed forth its contents followed quickly by its index.
Tortle the Rabbit unwittingly witnessed said events. He had been groomed for this day, his life would culminate here and now. He fluffed himself up, drew in a draught of air and made ready his prattle.
The Termination has undone, the becoming has begun....