Do stories find their end? Stories of imaginary homelands? Do stories find us? Or do we search them, weave them, and they then themselves find their end? Or do we find for them? Or do 'they' find for us and those stories; their end, our end, stories' end? Questions remain, unanswered. Like stories, open ended. Quest questions and, then, we question quest's quest. Another story begins. Another quest. Perhaps, another home? Do stories find their end?
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