Here is the smell of seafood pie a broken tower on the open sky a chain of islands rolling west in sight of the house where we are guests A rambling old river twists through the fields ancient names imprinted on shields Gifts arrive for a baby girl born a queen at the end of the world Furious music from an open door The sound of feet beating on a stone floor Always the wind, always the form of an Elder God, hooved and horned The head of the mountain lost in a cloud a country woman, soft and proud Into the bay the horses swirl for we come to the sea at the end of the world