I want to make my soul pure. Besides death, what other way is there? He smiled and said, "It's simple. Love." A fleeting fragrance glimpsed in a single glance was destined to bring a thousand years of wandering. The smoke-veil flowers bloom, and the grasses grow lush. This is the world of the July Tribe, where life and death pass in silence. Its people live for only seven months, and their home lies in the moonlight. He, meanwhile, is a ruler fated to be alone, surrounded by empty splendor. I would gladly be the staff in your shepherd's hand, just to listen as you play your flute, again and again.
