Albion, Art, Books

Songs of the Stone: monkish mead…







“Sea-mist,” repeated Kieron, thirteen-hundred years before those words were uttered.

“Dragon’s Breath,” snorted Bark Jaw-Dark into the dancing particles of icy-air which swirled about his head, “And I’ve never know a world be the same once it’s raised.”

“There’s a boat out there,” said Kieron with some surprise and no little concern.

He planted his staff deep in the good earth and rested his weight on it.

“Ring the bell!”

He shouted over his shoulder into the white-soup of gloom behind him before turning to look back out across what could be seen of the sound.

Somewhere far away a bell clanged mournfully, and the slow, rhythmic plash of oar in water grew more and more distinct…

Before the cowled forms in the boat could be properly discerned, a shrill call broke the ponderous air like a banshee’s keen…

“We are come seeking that which was lost…”

… “Never the same,” reiterated Jaw-Dark, ruefully.


The Red, the White, the Green…

Some things have to be believed

Before they can be seen…



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