conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first three paragraphs for a book with the title 'Darkwalker on Moonshae'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Darkwalker on Moonshae
  Tristan entered the great hall and found his father sitting alone by the embers of a dying fire. He didn't look up as the prince entered. The shutters of the long windows were open, but the room still seemed to harbor a deep, disturbing chill.
  For a minute, the prince wondered if his father had heard him, for the king displayed no reaction. Finally, the king turned and regarded his son coldly.
  Suppressing an urge to scream and stomp his feet and once again failing to impress his father, the Prince of Corwell turned and walked, seething, from the hall. As always, he immediately converted his anger into a desire to rush out and have some fun, so he hurried about his preparations for the hunt.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Finally Erian reached the top of a low hill and saw the Pack below him. Thousands of wolves nearly filled a small valley, where the Pack was in the process of crossing a shallow river. Many wolves, having already made the swim, shook themselves or rested on the far side. Others bobbed steadily across, swimming resolutely against a mild current.
  His bloodshot eyes glittered with hate as Erian searched among the wolves, seeking the big male. Finally, he found him, still lolling comfortably on the near bank.
  Raising his face toward the sun, Erian howled, a long wail that ululated through the valley, and pulled the attention of every wolf to the great beast standing atop the hill. Erian howled again, masterful and evil, as the wolves cringed.
  The big male, he noticed, bristled aggressively and began to move forward, but even his bearing bespoke fear. Erian loped down the hill, arrowing straight for the big male. The other wolves scampered out of his way, then turned, intent on watching the fight.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The goddess smiled, and her smile was the warmth of the late summer sun. Her breath was the smooth caress of the wind that cleansed the countryside. She saw the fleet of northmen sail from the shores of Corwell, and she ignored them for she had no need for vengeance.
  She wept for the deaths of her people, and for the destruction that had been wrought upon her lands. But she knew that the Ffolk were strong, and would soon restore their homes and fields, and their heritage would be renewed.
  And she thought of the bard, whose songs had so soothed her. The wind spread throughout the lands of the Moonshaes, carrying the enchanted memories of the great Keren's harp. And wherever there were bards, a new song was learned—a song of evils, and heroes, and lovers, and death. It was a song of rare beauty, a song that would be sung for many centuries.
  It was a song by the greatest bard of them all. And though Keren no longer lived, his legacy of song rode the wind across the Moonshaes, and all the bards of the land shared in its sweet refrain.