The Guardian

There are doors dotted all across this landscape and each has its own guardian, sworn to protect and conceal the portal and aid all who pass across its threshold.








This door is used by the Wild Hunt, the yearly outing of old Dewer and his Yeth hounds followed by the rest of the Faeri court. I don’t go out on that night. Being a Guardian holds no sway to those enthralled by blood lust . . .







I am Làmh, Guardian of the Fae door on the west side of the moor.

I carry the responsibility for this door. Few tread across its entrance and my duties are light in comparison to other Guardians. I enjoy my charge and live well. That is compensation enough for my endeavours . . . .

Some where, some place . . .

It’s raining hard on the moor again. The seasons are changing out of step with the Wheel of the Year. The cold has chased the inhabitants of the windswept landscape away, hiding in nooks and crannies between stone and earth.




If you search thoroughly in certain places you can spot small eyes looking out at the damp world, watching as you walk by. You have to look carefully.  Some places are better hidden than others.




Beneath old Rowan trees is a good start of course . . . .