And holding his gaze with my own, I had bitten into a perfect apple to break its shining skin, then offered him a bite, and I'd watched his strong teeth sink into the flesh, and the juice had run down into the softness of his dark beard . . . (Chapter Seventeen)
The Isle of Avalon had been since before memory a land of apples. The rich, juicy fruit replayed in its own being the watery mists and marshes of the sacred landscape; ever symbolic of abundance, beauty, wisdom, and choice.
In this tale the apple is the living image of the Lady, of all that she knows and loves and stands for. It is the image of the land, and of the ancient traditions that emerge from, and form it.
In ways that Vivian and Eosaidh could never have imagined, it is the apple of Avalon that unites and yet threatens them both with choices old and new . . . |
