To whomever finds me
I fear I have held something from you and from the galaxy, for many a year. As you all know I am the last of my kin and as I am approaching the end of my life, I feel it is appropriate to tell you the truth.
Back when I was Galan in the year 27π it was the morn of the seventeenth moon. I was no older than nine, a number which, said to represent satisfaction, brought only sorrow. The sun had set with a smooth sky yet there was a disconcerting air of the cavern. The only woman who ever loved me was resting peacefully, with child, upon the chaise longue, the fire kissing her toes with the sweetest crackling sound. The suns upper corona was casting its final rays, illuminating her tired face.
As her chest gently rose, a hoarse braying came from within the barn, followed by a consenting uproar from the other animals. I rushed out to tame the mounting pandemonium emanating from the farmyard. The barn doors had burst open. Shards lay across the drive. Ebbs soa