The guild mostly learned of Tove’s return when they heard her voice echo through the guild hall, although she declined to show herself at first.

The hall was a strange place, acoustically, and one walking through the gilded ways would catch only snippets of the song.

But we bent and we broke and I meant what I spoke
And the blame game does not produce a winner
We went as far as we could go we had to go that far to know
That we had nowhere left to aim
And no one left to blame but
The moon’s wax and wane and the turn of the tide
The moon’s wax and wane and the turn of the tide

Or maybe the song wandered because Tove did, trying to figure out where her newest edges fit in. She’d found her old space and walked away from it, disgusted by how familiar it was and how empty some places in it were, and would remain.

But we love and we lose and we lash-out and we bruise
And the name of the game’s just the living
We go as far as we can go we’ve got to go that far to know
That we have everything to gain
By knowing we can blame
The moon’s wax and wane and the turn of the tide
The moon’s wax and wane and the turn of the tide

She set up a campfire on her old ledge, shook out her bedroll, and figured she might as well pretend she was still camping until she got her roots all settled again. Tove would get her bookshelves and everything all sorted out later, perhaps after she’d learned to interact with folks on only two legs again. It had been a long and lonely walk.

Am I strung up or do I pull the string?
Will the fact I cling too tightly
To my dreams come back and bite me
Am I trying to make a science of an art?
And will the very fate I wish to woo
Be the one that I undo
By thinking I can steer this crazy cart

But I’ll live and I’ll learn
And I’ll light and I’ll burn
’Til the flame simmers down to a spark
I’ll go as far as I can go
I’ve to go that far to know that I have everything to gain
By knowing I can’t train
The moon’s wax and wane and the turn of the tide
The moon’s wax and wane and the turn of the tide

Tove set aide her lute and lay back, studying the ceiling.

((Lyrics: Wax and Wane, Alana Henderson))

Author Ambrosine
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