As they entered the chamber, Jamie straightaway looked for the Faceless Beings, but there were no signs of them, only the shape of a Celestial Window materialising in one section of the chamber. Jamie stared into it, describing a blazing inferno around which several glowing hot objects were orbiting. In the gaseous matrix, solidifying masses were constantly bombarding the orbiting objects; each object absorbing the impacting fragments. Jamie and Vicky were spellbound, instinctively sensing they were witnessing the aftermath of a genesis; a divine snap-shot displaying the infant period in the creation of a planetary solar system in progress. Jamie and Vicky felt infinitesimal, humbled as witnesses to the Infinite One at work.

The little boy gazed up at Abigail as they walked on. Im sorry, he whispered. Hanzas statement almost brought tears to Abigails eyes. He seemed to apologize for his existence. For a six-year-old, the history and experiences in Hanzas short life seemed to have created a benign acceptance and realization in him that had sent him beyond his years.

He turned into the lane leading to home, serenaded by the haunting sigh of the breeze in the branches of the trees above. As he ambled along, the rustling leaves above personified the sound of whispered voices. He paused and looked up the constantly changing mosaic patterns of the leaves on the swaying branches, the fleeting glimpses of sunlight down on him. He contemplated the eerie sounds, convincing himself he had allowed his imagination to run away with him. While he was standing quietly there, the muttering sounds became clearerthe names Vicky and Jamie clearly drifting down through the confusion of whispering voices.

After welcoming the congregation, the priest continued to announce the opening hymn, making no mention of why he had replaced Father Carmichael for the service. It raised the curiosity in Connie, especially as the rest of the congregation seemed relaxed and familiar with the priest addressing them. As the service continued, Connie found herself looking around the church to see if Father Carmichael had arrived. Peering through two pillars adjacent to their pew, her gaze fell upon a commemorative plaque set in the wall beyond. In bold script cut into the stone, Connie focused on the name of the churchs founder. She stared, stunned at the words In memory of Father Carmichael, followed by the dates of his life span several centuries earlier.

Suddenly, by the piano stool, she made out a faint shadow beginning to appear. She stared at it curiously as the familiar features of a little dog gradually began to form. The seconds ticked on, until the spirit of her little dog Tiggle materialized and turned to gaze across at her. In that moment, all the grief Tiffany had felt over his loss vanished.

Offering an assessment of the theory and practice of conflict resolution in post-Cold War conflicts, this book addresses a number of questions. It explores the nature of contemporary conflict and the development of conflict resolution.