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| Scenes of Avalon . . . |
| As we slide towards it, his eyes still shining, I see him taking in all that he sees: the old whitethorn who bends over the ground, offering protection, she who we know as Wyddonwrach Wen. And under the tree, the large round stone that our tales call Maen Wyddraig, the dragon's egg. He gets to his feet and walks towards it, crouching to lay his hand upon its smooth pale surface. He looks up to where I sit, above him on the slope. The sun's setting is hidden now by the hill, but its light shimmers off the waters, deepening still further the colours of the land, the lush green of the islands and the golden fields of barleycorn. Yet here, in the shadow of the tor by the old whitethorn, the temple of our world is soft and cool and grey . . . (Chapter Eleven) |
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| We both remove our sandals, stepping out onto the old walkway. Vivian continues, "We think in cycles, Eos, with the changes in tides, the wanderings of the water's currents. Things just come and go. We don't need to hold onto things. A walkway ceases being used and falls to ruin. Another will be built when and where it is needed. One day it, too, falls to decay, and another is built somewhere else." We walk a little way out, and sit, dropping our feet into the cool marsh waters . . . (Chapter Twelve) |
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| We are not far across Dolgwyl Waun when Vivian realizes where we are going. "To Bol Forla?" she asks, "I didn't know you knew of it." "I did not know its name. It is a peaceful place," I say, "and there is shade there. I saw it from Wirrheal on the first day I returned to the island. I have heard the marsh folk find it a sacred place. Sometimes I have found great solace there. I hope I have not been mistaken in feeling welcome." "It is one reason people come to the island." She turns to me and touches my face with her fingertips, creating a moment of quiet intensity in that strange way that she does, and she murmurs softly, "I am glad that the spirits there have made you welcome." "Bol Forla?" I ask. "Who is Morla? It sounds a sad name." As we walk across the meadow, hand in hand, she tells me the story . . . (Chapter Twelve) |
| Bol Forla: "Morla's Belly" |
| The Old Walkway |
| On the Tor |