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WOODMYTH & FABLE S-/ 



was veiled in a haze. A mystical haze 

 and a splendor, a dreamy calm, was over 

 all, for this was the Peace of the Smoking- 

 days. This was the Indian Summer. 



For ten fair days the Peace was 

 smoked. The Fliers had gone and the 

 Dwellers made ready. Then Ninna-bo- 

 jou arose, and departing, he shook the ash 

 from his pipe. A rising wind drifted its 

 whiteness over the hills, blew all the smoke 

 from the landscape. Now another feeling 

 spreads abroad. The moon of the Falling 

 leaves has waned, the Mad moon comes, 

 awesome and chilling and dark. At morn 

 there are spears of white on the ponds, 

 there are tracks and signs — the signs of 

 an on-coming enemy, of a foe irresisti- 

 ble. For this is the death of the Red 

 Rose days; this is the dawn of the Mad 

 moon gloom. This is the end of the joy and 

 the light — the coming of Kabibonokka. 



