The seventh spoke tells the story of him who would stride towards the dire longing which resounds within those who still know the minne. Marching ever forwards toward that waterfall which cascades over her with the golden chalice, she who sits faithfully awaiting him who drains that unquenchable vessel daily. Though who can know the length of one day who hasn't tasted eternity? Or who she is, if he does not know who she waits for? May you find within the pieces that point towards what has always been there waiting for the pure of heart.