"How does it feel to have another temple designed by you go up? Getting tired of it?"
lenWalis shook his head. "Not of buildings, because I know they will see use. And to be entrusted with something so costly cannot help but tickle my pride. For there is no question of flippancy, either in the backers or the builders. I can only respond to that with all my ability."
It was in that way that lenWalis always responded to such questions, and never yet did he lie. He left the site feeling the pleasing weight of a serious task, an awareness that what he did had meaning for others.
"Look out!"
He never saw the laden wagon coming.
"Is he coming around?"
lenWalis opened his eyes and knew wonder. Where else could he be but the realm of some god whose temple he had built? Strange buildings unsuitable for human occupation rose to trouble the clouds, and around him were such noise and lights as none but the gods could comprehend. He tried to sit up that he might abase himself. The figures around him, however, looked on him with the curious eyes of men and women rather than the knowing gazes of gods.
"He's alive, but who is he?"
The concerned passersby had no idea that somewhere nearby, a short commute away in an upscale suburb, a self-taught magician debated with himself how likely that the ritual to summon a hero from another world to save his had succeeded. Not exactly in those terms, though. "Man, I sure hope I grabbed somebody who can come up something other than these ****-*** ****** piles of sun-hardened ***-**** with their ****** ****-loads of ************ concrete that break down like overused *********** used to *********** ************ after thirty ****-covered years, like what the ********. Seriously, the ****** suicide rate must triple for any ********** ************ unlucky enough to get a job in those, and they don't even have to look at them for most of their **********, ************ working days." And that hope was not in vain.
Finis
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