He was the beginning of the story—but he was also the vessel for everything I could not yet say. He bore the weight of grief I did not yet understand. The language, elevated and trembling, matched the ache in my soul.
 
But time passed. Healing came. And I began to see that what I had written—though true—was not yet whole.
 
The burden Nagad carried was mine. But now I have grown strong enough to return and lift some of it from him.
 
So I am revising The Stone of Ebenezer.
 
The story remains—the call to battle, the sacred hush, the promise of a broken people restored—but the telling will be cleaner, sharper, truer. Still poetic. Still reverent. But now more open. More readable. More able to carry the reader into the holy ground it walks.
 
To those who loved it in its first form: thank you.
To those who could not press through the tangled cadence: I understand. And I am rewriting for you.
 
Because this story is not finished.
And neither am I.