(no subject)
As the crimson blaze fades, Kim Ford finds herself standing in the place of her dreaming.
There is no lake of glass here now, nor island rising from still waters, but the soft music of gentle waves yet whispers with the wind through green, green grass here on Glastonbury Tor, which in an earlier time had been called Avalon and whose shores had sheltered a fallen warrior and dying king.
Before the Warstone's light dies utterly she turns, raising her hand toward Stonehenge, so far away. Kim reaches out with the power as she has done before, gathering the other four in and sending them through the crossing, borne on the last wild red light back to Fionavar without her.
And then the ring goes dark on her finger, and the only light on this windy height is that of the thin crescent moon and bright sparks of stars in the night above.
There is no lake of glass here now, nor island rising from still waters, but the soft music of gentle waves yet whispers with the wind through green, green grass here on Glastonbury Tor, which in an earlier time had been called Avalon and whose shores had sheltered a fallen warrior and dying king.
Before the Warstone's light dies utterly she turns, raising her hand toward Stonehenge, so far away. Kim reaches out with the power as she has done before, gathering the other four in and sending them through the crossing, borne on the last wild red light back to Fionavar without her.
And then the ring goes dark on her finger, and the only light on this windy height is that of the thin crescent moon and bright sparks of stars in the night above.