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Legend is a poor biographer. It speaks long and proudly of its champions, and it drones extensively on the faults of its villains. As for those who do not fit neatly into the former or the latter group, legend says little. It is in the forgotten fog of the grey area, however, that many of the curiouser legends are found. Take, for instance, the seldom-spoken tale of the Wracian Aelif, the Eternal Wanderer. Scant fables murmur of a fox, old as the earth he endlessly treads. No hero of myth, no towering warrior; he simply is, just as the sea and the mountains simply are. Edan is his name, Edan Alesend. The dawn of knowledge was the dawn of his life, and its dusk shall be his end. He is no god, no angel or demon, he has no inherent might. Some say that while all living things know they are part of a larger world, he alone feels it spin, knows the depth of the connection life has with its Earth-mother. He continues, and will always continue, for that is his purpose.