"We are in the wrong place," Arik says, and the rest is only the matter of us dreaming, and I do not hear because there is the sound of a wind in my ears, and the great slow sweeps of sea and sky come to pieces under the scatter of light and shadow flickering together, the small movements of leaves in clusters and thin fingers of light reaching down to mulch and dead leaves.
And I can taste the salt on the air, and feel the shifting stones beneath my feet and hear the waves, but I see a different land (http://community.livejournal.com/estdeus_innobis/405098.html?thread=10301034#t10314858)--thicketed rather than bare, and a darkness of shadow rather than clouds. It spins as my sight gusts forward, tangle of branches and silt of moss.
"This is not the wrong place," I say, but in agreement, because the opposite of a truth is a lie, the opposite of a greater truth is another truth. "This is only not the end of the journey. Wish and serpent we have seen; now we must go to the tower."
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And I can taste the salt on the air, and feel the shifting stones beneath my feet and hear the waves, but I see a different land (http://community.livejournal.com/estdeus_innobis/405098.html?thread=10301034#t10314858)--thicketed rather than bare, and a darkness of shadow rather than clouds. It spins as my sight gusts forward, tangle of branches and silt of moss.
"This is not the wrong place," I say, but in agreement, because the opposite of a truth is a lie, the opposite of a greater truth is another truth. "This is only not the end of the journey. Wish and serpent we have seen; now we must go to the tower."