To the west there could be seen a faint orange glow, it was a seductive phantom light, the suns presence was eternal if you knew where to look. There was a tempest of cold and snow, spring would come eventually. Spirits weaved between the trees, they sang sweetly of the otherworld, of its white roses and golden trees. They roamed over brook and moor, tethered to that strange expanse of land. They wailed with the wind and tormented all that could hear them. Fear wrapped itself around the living, it blinded them. Contorted by it they walked with their eyes down, the earth was comforting in its dark stillness. If they had only looked up their terror would have been washed away, the sky was ever changing in its beauty. Moon and star were covered and uncovered by silver cloud, Venus glistened and watched. The morning brought hues of rich orange and pink, golden light streamed through canopies and tall grass. It brought with it warmth and freshness in the air, it put the spirits to rest under that cold earth.