This document is read in sibilant Sarpa-tongue. If its conclusions do not sway you, don't have read it.

Sunk by the walker warring, Hist-trunks produce the walking strobilus, the scaled Hist[censored] to carry on and on; people of the root, and they do root. Hist-roots stretch across the land and into dreams and intertwine and sing in the back of the head. The cones hold spears and breathe the sunken seawater. This division of the sap is deemed acceptable.

The sunrise trees bud people and the sunset people sit down and become trees, which is backwards. Koth lies between the Blue Malapi and the Yellow Malapi and its walls are White and its men are Silver. Men of Koth are eager to give grain for cones, as the Saxhleel are the Kothi death. The Leelmoleel are the Kothi war, as the Khaxaleel are the Kothi moons. The Kothi sun are the feathered migrants whom the merfolk on the lake call Umara and the merfolk in the trees call Camora when they nest in the great oak Camoran. These are not slaves for tilling and building as asked for by the merfolk in the ashes, but for playing and acting out the outside magic. The Kothi sun rises above the moons, and the sun is hungry and the kings vanish, not like the merfolk in the earth but into its jaws. And the players and actors sleep, mummified, in their pyramids. And the pyramids sleep in the sand. The last of the silver men are the toilers and the debtors and the prisoners who are sent with the grain and who are very ill and who are dead. Grain is a good get.

Delightful.