by S. Robertson
The small group remained for a few moments staring out over the familiar Hill and Tara landscape, now resplendent in its white mantle. Then quietly Dylan’s men picked up the folding chairs and the group retreated towards their waiting bus. But the hill was not entirely empty.
Invisible to the naked eye in rows stood the spirits of those who had guarded the medallion over the centuries, silent witnesses to the sacred prophecy which had just unfolded. In a far corner stood the spirits of the Druid Seer, Imergin and his students.
“After two thousand years life on this planet is about to return to its former glory. I told you the prophecy would be fulfilled,” said Imergin.
“Does this mean our job is done?” asked a senior student.
“Not quite. I think it would be wise for us to linger awhile until we are sure our descendants are firmly established in their new roles. There will be much resistance to the changes ahead. We will greet them again on Samhain. But for today, let us savor the glorious awakening of our precious Hill of Tara.”
The End