![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh097XoW8AzvuSW15mkHNX5oghyB8g798mNbbO-JNwxQbJEPqnzPfP-V9NtOAbvZ_f-fSn4i9gHPigm34R-ecjjLSSFOw-KsWVt1nCch51B2OLeIWoaqR37QKdnPJ-XQyQtLwgYnjVaDMNy/s320/10372143_676019685839035_762450747726736656_n.jpg) |
John Langdale |
There is a mountain even the weather avoids. Clouds skirt by it like oil around a soap bubble. The ground is cracked and dusty, with only the most hostile of bramble-plants choking the mountain's approach. Still, despite the lack of vegetation, the place is a maze.
Perhaps after a couple of hours of marching in circles near the peak a traveler might see something strange - an over-sized seed wit
h an eye (painted?) on it, lying in the dust. It's about as big as a tennis ball, and not much heavier.
Soon the seeds are everywhere.
Then the travelers stumble upon the town.