conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first two paragraphs for a story with the title 'The Sword of the Lady'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Sword of the Lady
  He ducked lower and thoughtfully picked up his sallet helm and set it on his head, with the visor slid up along the low steel dome and locked in place and the sponge and felt lining pressing firmly around brow and temples and the back of his skull. Then he reached over his shoulder to his quiver for a shaft to set on his string. Edain did the same with his open-faced helmet, nocked one arrow and eased out three more from his quiver, holding them between one finger and his bow, a trick for rapid shooting. If they were careful there was little chance the ambushers would notice, and it was well to be ready. Also the dull matt-green surface of the steel was less conspicuous than the raw metallic brightness of his shoulder-length red-blond mane, or even the sun-streaked oak brown of Edain′s curly mop.
  The horsemen riding unaware into the trap down the road below were stripped to the waist in the muggy heat, regardless of the mosquitoes that were beginning to whine. Even at a hundred yards and through the gloaming he could see that three of them carried long spears tipped with ground-down butcher knives, and they all had a clutch of javelins slung over their backs as well in something like a big quiver. Then the still air shifted and a little breeze cuffed at leaf and twig around him, cooling the sweat that stuck strands of his hair to the back of his neck beneath the flare of the helm. The horses tossed their heads at the scent of their own kind; one nickered, and was answered by an equine snort from behind the two Mackenzies.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Ingolf looked at him in mild surprise. ″When I left? A bit more than a hundred farms that came through; call it, oh, twenty-five hundred people, Farmers and refugees together. That′s in the whole Sheriffry of Readstown, not just″—his gesture took in the settlement—″the homeplace here; say a hundred-odd here counting kids. Probably more now all up.″
  Mathilda shaped a soundless whistle. Rudi was impressed himself. Not nearly as many inhabitants as great Iowa, but it was still as many as the PPA had, and half what the United States of Boise or the Cutters could boast; seven or eight times as many as the Clan Mackenzie. And Richland wasn′t even the only such bossmandom in what had been Wisconsin; there was Ellsworth, to the north, and a spattering of independent little villages and counties farther northeast.
  Mark went on: ″A quarter of them are cavalry. A lot of our guys fought in the Sioux War, or in the trouble we had with Ellsworth, or against outlaws and stuff. Our team won third place in the Guard muster competition at Richland Center this June.″
  The hall was filled with chatter and smiles; even the Southsiders were only mildly nervous despite the strangeness of place, folk and even food—many of them still thought of buttered bread as an exotic treat. The Mackenzie judged the Readstown folk were showing the pleasure to be expected at a break in routine, plus anticipation of the feast and the happiness anyone who lived close to the land felt when the main harvest was in and safely stored.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Mackenzie judged the Readstown folk were showing the pleasure to be expected at a break in routine, plus anticipation of the feast and the happiness anyone who lived close to the land felt when the main harvest was in and safely stored. ″When I left? A bit more than a hundred farms that came through; call it, oh, twenty-five hundred people, Farmers and refugees together. That′s in the whole Sheriffry of Readstown, not just″—his gesture took in the settlement—″the homeplace here; say a hundred-odd here counting kids. Probably more now all up.″
  Mathilda shaped a soundless whistle. Rudi was impressed himself. Not nearly as many inhabitants as great Iowa, but it was still as many as the PPA had, and half what the United States of Boise or the Cutters could boast; seven or eight times as many as the Clan Mackenzie. And Richland wasn′t even the only such bossmandom in what had been Wisconsin; there was Ellsworth, to the north, and a spattering of independent little villages and counties farther northeast.
  Mark went on: ″A quarter of them are cavalry. A lot of our guys fought in the Sioux War, or in the trouble we had with Ellsworth, or against outlaws and stuff. Our team won third place in the Guard muster competition at Richland Center this June.″
  The hall was filled with chatter and smiles; even the Southsiders were only mildly nervous despite the strangeness of place, folk and even food—many of them still thought of buttered bread as an exotic treat.Ingolf looked at him in mild surprise.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The light soared and spun, broadening into a wall that stretched into the clouds and moved eastward, fading as it went. Instant by instant it swelled, and then was gone—gone from the body′s eyes, at least.
  Juniper′s head was tipped back, her mouth fallen open, her eyes black with the dilated pupils. Before BD could react pain hit, a pain she had only felt once before, on the day of the Change. And a voice echoed, like the wind in crags, like the growth of flowers, roaring like a lion and as silent as the fall of windless snow:
  Artos holds the Sword of the Lady! The Sun Lord comes, the son of Bear and Raven! The High King comes, as foretold! Guardian of my sacred Wood, and Law! His people′s strength, and the Lady′s sword!
  Fast and sharp, the pain was gone. Juniper brought trembling hands down to her chest level and looked at them, swaying and beginning to buckle at the knees. BD and Judy and the other High Priestesses moved forward. Nigel was faster; his fox mask pushed up on his head, he snatched her into his arms, looking at the tears flowing down her cheeks. The staff cracked across his cheekbone, unnoticed.
  She raised her hands to him, quivering as they touched his face. ″They′re just my own worn hands. That′s all they are!″
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: That′s all they are!″. Instant by instant it swelled, and then was gone—gone from the body′s eyes, at least.
  Juniper′s head was tipped back, her mouth fallen open, her eyes black with the dilated pupils. Before BD could react pain hit, a pain she had only felt once before, on the day of the Change. And a voice echoed, like the wind in crags, like the growth of flowers, roaring like a lion and as silent as the fall of windless snow:
  Artos holds the Sword of the Lady! The Sun Lord comes, the son of Bear and Raven! The High King comes, as foretold! Guardian of my sacred Wood, and Law! His people′s strength, and the Lady′s sword!
  Fast and sharp, the pain was gone. Juniper brought trembling hands down to her chest level and looked at them, swaying and beginning to buckle at the knees. BD and Judy and the other High Priestesses moved forward. Nigel was faster; his fox mask pushed up on his head, he snatched her into his arms, looking at the tears flowing down her cheeks. The staff cracked across his cheekbone, unnoticed.
  She raised her hands to him, quivering as they touched his face. ″They′re just my own worn hands.The light soared and spun, broadening into a wall that stretched into the clouds and moved eastward, fading as it went.