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| P. W. Fox -- Site Under Construction |
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| Current Projects: The Last Wizard |
| Prolog My death approaches. I hear it in the wind and feel its measured step in the earth beneath my feet. The icy water flowing swiftly down the rocky channel tastes of death--my death. I am at once diminished and enlarged. Soon I will be lost to the physical world that has been home to me since my birth, but I will gain the whole of the larger cosmos of which the physical world is but a fragment. I am the last practitioner of those arts, Which bend unguessed forces to my will To change the world for good or ill. I am old according to that count of years, Which frames the reckonings of men. Only Merlin will yet live on, Because I am no demon’s spawn Nor lie I spellbound in a crystal cave, Eternal prisoner of Viviane’s twisted love. I’ve lived out my life; I’ve aged. |
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