Slowly the spires rose from the Hazel wood, straining to reach the very tops of the clouds. This journey has taken for ever, yet it happened in the blink of the cosmic eye.
The waterfall Alltan na Srione escapes from the surging stone to write its own tale down the slope to the sea that tingles the tunes below. I cannot climb this face. Threat looms in the mossy ridges.
I want to see what’s up there, I want to own that view too. To feel the Loki call of An Sithean is to know the tarot Tower, the runic Hagalaz.
Sweet destruction lies on that temptress facade. I will not climb today. I would not return.