Peering over the battlements out to the West a light pierces the corner of your eye. You turn and
behold a figure, clad in white, stood upon the beach down below, and a light, but the figure is not
holding the light. Rather, the figure itself is radiant, glowing with a gladsome white light. It is a
fine-figured woman, her long white and luminous hair floats upon the fresh sea-breeze. She is
standing, motionless, looking out to sea. Rushing to the stair well, you are surprised to see that a thick
sea-mist has arisen and is rapidly moving landward. Then you see something else, a dragon boat,
gliding in to shore, with the mist following behind it, as if a cloud had descended upon the water and
gently placed the boat upon the sea to make landfall. There are no figures in the boat, it glides
effortlessly as if guided by an invisible force and rowed by invisible hands. Shields of gold and silver
flank the hull, catching the moonlight and bouncing it back.

You rush down, as fast as you can ascend such a mighty but ruined structure, and hurry along the
beach to where the lady was standing. By the time you reach the rocky shore and the sandy cove, you
see that the boat has just turned on its way back out to sea. She is on-board and you stare as the
boat steers away between the rocks. The light she radiates is beautiful to behold. It is a comforting
light. It has been a long time since you saw a warming light in this land of perpetual winter. You long to
know where she is going, you long to talk to her, for her to return and share her light and not to leave
with such mystery, and yet, just to glimpse her light is better than to have never seen it. She turns to
look back at you.

Somehow, you feel that you know her. You gaze at her peaceful face and sense her sadness. She is
otherworldly, and yet, she is sad to be leaving Midgard. She is sailing West, across the sea to where
only the Western Isles lie. You stand upon the eastern-most island of the Western Isles. West of these
shores there is a lonely island where the druids once founded their school. Further West still are
islands that few mortals have ever seen. Undying lands, where the earth produces all manner of fruit
in abundance throughout the year and without need for labour. Where the inhabitants never grow old.
Where time passes so slowly that a day would be a year where you stand. A land where the Sword
was forged, at the dawn of time; that Sword which was later retained in safe keeping by the Lady of
the Lake.
Annwn is where you were born, the dark waters from whence came the Light. From the far western
Isles the Children of Dana came, thousands of years ago. From the Land of the Happy Dead, from the
great walls of Gorias, Finias, Murias and Falias they came. Taught science and the arts by great
sages and craftsmen came the Gifted People. Among them were those that wielded the Sacred Flame.
Defeated in battle by sons of Men who could unveil the mists, they withdrew further West, veiling their
lands in mists even more finely crafted than before. Those that stayed behind tried to guide
humankind, before they too returned or else perished and faded to the Sidhe.

The Lady you now see is probably the last of her kind to remain, and now she too departs. The hearts
of humankind have grown too dark, too cold, and there is nothing more she can do, though she has
tried her best and you know, from the way she looks back at you, that she leaves with heavy heart.
What will you do now? You watch as the boat disappears into the fog. Her light is all that for a while
longer remains visible, before it too fades from view. What will you do, now that her star has set upon
this world? You cannot go where she has gone. Could you bring back her light if you could follow her?
Even if you knew which way to set sail, could you part the mists? Can the failing druids and the ghosts
of the Sidhe help you? Can Merlin help you when he is trapped within a stone by a hex so strong that it
will endure until the end of the world?
Her golden halo shimmers upon the starlight streams.
Her face, the finest pearl of soft pure radiance.
Her robes are of shimmering ripples of astral ether.
Stars like sparkling dewdrops fall where she treads.
Her diadem is a halo of stellar flame, a lustrous glory.
Her eyes blaze illuminant blue, like hot young stars burning bright.
She is ancient in mortal years, yet untarnished by shadows of remorse.
The path she flies is an arc in space and time, ascending and descending.
Her star sets as she journeys on, far outreaching the world she leaves behind,
distant in time, far in space.
Her flickering rays give light to the world as long as they can, but they are fading.
Long has she danced upon the waters and caressed the golden shores of
Long has she gazed upon mortal creatures of animate clay and shared her light
with them all.
Long have her starbeams flickered upon forest canopy and castle wall.
Will she ever be a part of this world again?
How much will change here in the twinkling of her eye.
It is starset.
Remember her light, far away in space and distant in time.
Her light has gone, but the Quest continues ...
There is a still a guiding light in this world ...