therYou can tell by the trail of the feathers, and the way that I say, by the way that you smile.
Nay said I.
In my breast in my bosom you lie.  I can say I wanted it all too badly

;;;;;  
Nay I called to softly.  The red hills of fire, I'm not rid of them, the armour has yet to be pierced, of the earth
and the sound, what the wind goes through to hurt the few.

Lucia Van Der Post

Van Der