It's dawn.
The pear blossoms rustled down in the morning breeze, like a belated spring snow. The silver-haired boy walked leisurely away on a mountain of white flowers, his back as bright as the moonlight. No one understood what song he sang, but the lingering sound lingered over and over again in the mountains, like an endless river.
Anyone who saw him thought he was an immortal.
So in the world of mortals, there are always people telling stories like this.
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Published in "Fantasy World Story" 2008-01
Intention: