Deliberations of Desecration

What has gone before.

The moon rose, argent and round, over Na Talla na Draoidheachd, pouring rivers of silver across the ancient green groves. The Darach trees breathed beneath its gaze, each vast trunk holding the gentle rise and fall of sleeping sisters within moss-softened hollows, prepared by the Kur-ahn seed planters when the world was young. A cool hush lay upon the l…