The Watcher in the Peak

By Tiro

“Stop for a moment, young one, and look around you. Look at these buildings you’ve raised; the old and the new. Look at the motor cars and lorries rumbling along these roads you’ve laid. Look up, and see the flying machines that buzz and roar above these ancient hills. Look at all the metal and glass. Such a mark you’ve made, don’t you agree? Such progress you’ve imposed upon these timeless, unchanging moors and valleys.

Now look deeper. Look further. Look past the everyday and see the forever.

These are my places. These hills on which you walk; these forests that shelter you; these rivers that refresh you. All grow with me. I have watched over them and from them since time far beyond the reach of your diggers and your machines and your papers. And I’ve watched you and your kind since the first of you arrived here. I watched you, tiny bands of you, struggling to survive in mist, and rain, and beating sun. I watched you venture into the deep, dark forests to hunt your prey: determined, yet in that thick gloom life-afeared of every rustle, snap, hoot and growl. I watched you cut, and shape, and build. I saw you make your homes and your markets and your temples; saw you laying out your circles of stone. And I saw you kill, and burn, and smash.

I’ve watched gods and armies and languages come and go; each vanishing as surely as the sun at the end of day. And now here you are, and here your towns and villages are, and here I am. We have grown here together, you and I; and perhaps we will grow yet. Though you pay me little heed in these days, and say I am a mere superstition, a fancy of foolish folk; still, I remain, wandering over high moors, across brooks and streams, in green woods, under these broken skies.

I am here, and I am watching.

HH.”

(More about Tiro)

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