Only a solitary flying bird is seen, its cry echoing a thousand li. It was a cherished object, crafted by a cr…
Only a solitary flying bird is seen, its cry echoing a thousand li.
It was a cherished object, crafted by a craftsman named Hong.
Now it lies broken on the ground, wilting.
When did it fall from the sky?
Was it when the fire burned through its flesh and bone? Or when the craftsman's blood soaked its feathers?
Did it die with that solitary, thousand-li cry?
It only remembers that in that final moment of falling, ten thousand Wooden Eagles rose beside it.