“I miss the music,” he thought. “The women used to sing such wonderful songs. Full of power and beauty.” Only now was Taro beginning to regret his long journey, as the nightly winds chilled his weary bones.
Sweat rolled off his forehead and burst upon the concrete floor as he examined his work. “Finally, a moment of rest,” he thought to himself, and rubbed his aching shoulder.
There’s nothing like exploring the fringes of the galaxy to figure out what you want to do with your life.
This is the stuff of dreams. The drink of gods, the enabler of magic, and the driving force of our civilization, all distilled in small but sturdy glass vials on a moon forty-seven light-years from our home