Rosy fingers of dawn
Above white mountains
A small village,
Perched on the edge.
Blessed and cursed:
Closer to the clear sky
Further away from the malice of the city
Yet plagued by the hate of others.
Lost and found:
Mazes and dead ends,
Hidden among the highest peaks,
But within the silver light of gods.
The brave and meek,
Sweary heroes of old,
Drunk, boisterous gods,
And a calf returning to his home.
Something new
And something old,
A tradition of now centuries
Upon the newest fledgelings from below
A god half a millennium old
The shenanigans of the night before...
The duality of the world.
….
I wonder if Calliope could send a message to Loreus...