The two statues always seem to me that they are giving high-fives to one another. But that wasn’t what caught my eye this time. The purple-blue shades of the sky was so strangely incongruent with the sun shining down at me. I had to remind myself where I was – they didn’t call it Far Shores for nothing!
Every time I go to Stirk, and I’ve been there at least ten times, I almost always arrive at nearly but not always the same time – the magic hour just reaching its last tendrils over before the evening ends and night begins. The sun nears the horizon; night gathers above, bejeweled and waiting. I imagine that the sea breeze is balmy, and perhaps I can taste sorrow in the air – the Crimson Ship carried its burden hopeless into that endless Abecean Sea and were lost. Who mourns them?
I love cats, but sometimes, their informal conferences make me wonder what they are plotting.
I might have noticed this before but I cannot remember if I did. Walking down towards the wayshrine, I noticed these rocks in this formation. The closer image shows more clearly their countenances. Fascinating.