OrGod. Or a horse, or a fence-post, or, for that matter, a cantaloupe. Arevisionist literary theorist could write a fairly well-reasoned booksupportin... any of those hypotheses, as well as a dozen others equally ifnot more bizarre. "Edgar Birdwell: First Poet Lover ofExtraterrestrials."Marcia could see it on the Hope Crossing library bookshelf now. Ofcourse, like Birdwell, she'd have to publish it herself.In the end, what was inspiring about Birdwell was not what he'd written,but how much he'd. Picking myself up I moved towards my horse, changing myself as I went.I smiled off into the darkness, remembering.Shaking my head to get rid of the memory I continued. "It was amazing. The number of knight, all the standards, the bright colours and everyone ready for anything. The greatest knights in the land were all there hoping to be the one to kill him." I wish I'd been there." Natalie whispered, breathless in wonder."I stayed near the edge, just wanting to watch."Unrolling my bedroll I. More

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