What happens is that the tower stops falling. It comes to a halt inches above Dylan’s head and simply stays there, suspended by nothing. Nothing except Tilda’s will. Gasping, she staggers forward, takes Dylan’s arm, and drags him away. They have not gone more than two paces before the floodlight continues its journey and crashes noisily onto the ground, breaking into pieces and sending fragments of glass and metal bouncing across the snow. Dylan is jolted back to his senses. Tilda still has hold of his arm. He looks at the mangled remains of the metal tower, at the place where he had been standing, and then at her. Neither of them speaks. He pulls her to him, and the two stand there in silence, holding one another, as slowly everyone else returns to the trench to examine the chaos that has just rained down upon them.

Chapter 12

12

SEREN

After the feast, after Hywel’s mistimed toast that drew such unwanted attention to me, I walk through the snow to the western shore of the lake. Heavy clouds have gathered once more, and as I reach the furthermost point from my home the sky can hold its burden no longer. A steady fall begins, undisturbed by so much as a breeze, plump flakes of snow adding to the layer that already smothers the ground. The stiller edges of the water start to be coated in a topping of slush, as the snow decides whether to freeze or to melt. After hours cooped up in the company of so many, with endless noise and doltish behavior, I feel the need to stand somewhere quiet and solitary. The need to look upon the ancient lake and feel its strength. Its magic. I require it to reassure and remind me that the foolish ways of men are but passing moments, shorter than the life of a single snowflake when compared to the existence of the lake. My boots are sheepskin, the wool on the inside keeps my feet warm, the tough leather on the outside offers sturdy protection. I am glad of my wolf skin tonight, and draw it around me as I stand on the shore. With so much cloud there is little moonlight, what there is descending in brief glimpses of clear sky, so that I stare through one level of darkness out over another. From here I can discern the flames of the crannog torches, though most are going out now. What light there is finds a glittering surface in the white snow, and glimmers more flatly upon the lake.