There is a strange conceit in making them when we are the last—but a race should leave something. The world is going . . . and the end of the world comes, not for us, perhaps, but soon. And we have always loved monuments. “Know that it was Morgaine kri Chya who wrought this ruin. Morgen-Angharan, Men named her: the White Queen, she of the white gull feather, who was the death that came on us. It was Morgaine who extinguished the last brightness in the north, who cast Ohtij-in down to ruin, and stripped the land of inhabitants. “Even before this present age she was the curse of our land, for she led the Men of the Darkness, a thousand years before us; her they followed here, to their own ruin; and the Man who rides with her and the Man who rides before her are of the same face and likeness—for now and then are alike with her. “We dream dreams, my queen and I, each after our own fashion. All else went with Morgaine.”
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