On the ald high hyll a giant sits over the valley, to watch all the comings and the goings of their love and the slight river in woe. For Alphin left little doubt as to how great he would grow for water to shake and shout til’ no more seed could he sow.
There was no love for the torrent. Alderman sighed for dear Alphin, a cold breath which did make shiver all the grass and the small fae folk who cling close to coiling hairs which knot into bracken. Here they swing, and dance, play all day and plot against kin, Alphin’s offspring.
From first morning blink, the folk sing. Each moment of light, chirping and chittering, they plot through their song. The sadness of Alderman be their call. Elder to them, haven, home. Growing more jealous of all the waters who rise and roam but most: the pearls that they haul.
With the advent of dawn does hold a deep mist weeping, in service to a dull moon. A pale wetness Wallowing low to hide its kin. Until sunne sends fine strength in warm light, To loose the water’s bound will and cause such haze to be slight, giving faint view to far hill.
The valley between plays host to doings done in sound secret, cast from esteem. Here knights do unsheath and bone beaus off the bypath, bent by need. By wood trunk and by great stones, where lusts take their root, they plead for their knight’s pearls amidst moans. Sunken in shame at their deed.
Alderman peered, hunted for love in sights that shimmer through slivers of broken fog. But their heart, see, no more could it take, before it broke too. With wretched wailing they thrust upward, sending rock askew, great boulders rent and thrown, bust on Alpin’s peak, cleft in two.
At dawn and dusk, day after day earth was launched in any which way. Vast banks of rock found home anew on either hill’s crest, bedded deep in dirt. All until one found fell mark, falling with a final spurt, a crimson red bloom. O’ hark ! to peat does Alpin revert.