Silent is the dawn as the river flows onwards and into the mists of time. Having crossed the Troll Bridge, Lily and I were stamping on the boards, and into the wetlands, where the bed of it graces me with crimson, orange, and yellow reeds, but still the river sings along. The weather is cooler today, and Samhain is upon us. Gold too are the leaves fallen to the ground, amongst the acorns, the pine cones and from the tall white gums, that tower about me. We wander between and around the huge trunks. Some are so white they are also a pale green, cool, smooth to touch beloved of mother nature. Upon some spots of bark exist, or in stripes or none at all but a lone bull ant climbing upwards. As we wander along the river bank amongst the She Oaks, sister to the male Oak, one cannot help but wonder at the nature beauty of life. Here, indeed is the realm of the Faery, and the present of the wandering clouds, never shapeless, but have form, confirm that and as I think this river exists with Enter the Fey, as we entered another realm, and Milena’s Quest, and will again in another book – as does the cloaked figure beyond who waits for me. I bow in sweet surrender.
This is my world