Aye, you streamed to us through valleys and
ages, heads bowing at this glimpse of heaven; silver reflecting in
your eyes. Your calloused hands trembled. Water, you sought,
charged by the dip of crystal.
And we prescribed – the Archibalds,
Alexanders, Donalds, Malises – ‘a stoup-ful for staggers in the
herd; an affusion for louping-ill; an immersion for the black
garget on Blossom’s udder.’