Zy didn’t know quite why he felt so moved. But there was something about the juxtaposition of the lonely tower in the moonlight, high up there, above them, the small fire burning on the summit, and the bareness of the landscape in the frozen winter quiet, which caused a glowing shift in his understanding of the world. Through the long days and nights of the ride, plunged into distances, his eye had grown practised in measuring space, and he could gauge that the tower was about half an hour away, up the undemanding slope. There was a great stillness about everything at that moment: the night sky was still, the snowy terrain was still, and the air, and the moon, and the tower. Only the riders were moving – the riders, and the fire, burning, glimmering, beckoning to them.

Excerpt from Fire House, Volume 6 of Dustless

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