The shadows writhe in turmoil, ever threatened by the day, which is it's
enemy. It's ever burning hatred directed, focused. Sired by that which
is good, and light, and right, opposing to that which is evil, and dark,
and twisted. The shadows writhe in turmoil, ever waiting their chance to
rebel the light, ever fighting for their place. Hiding, biding time,
always waiting, the shadows wait in the caves, in the hidden places,
places the likes of which the light would not dare set foot in. The
shadows, the light, the bad, the good, that which our lives are consumed
by, ever in turmoil, without one, the other is nothing, think on that my
friend, ponder it long, and let your wisdom grow...

Penned by my hand on the 6th of Lanosian, in the year 83 MA.