“Once,” John’s mother says, languid in the summer heat, “in the days almost before there was sun or moon, the elves looked up at the stars and dreamed. Discontented with their houses of wood and stone and dirt, they set themselves to build a city of nothing but air and solid light, with a few polished bones to give her shape
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Sort of like Jews who dreamed of Zion and died before they could return there.
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