This Causeway erected from the flowing sands tethers the great artificial peaks of this Monastery. The rising sun, the real sun bathes these battered exterior walls the color of carrion, befitting light that dapples, shrinks deep into the baked crevices between stones as if blood emerging from the dry skin of some severe eczema. To the left of you, closer by a half the distance, sits an Observatory. Younger by a century than the rest of this island, and afterthought. Of what reason would non-believers need a looking-glass of this scale, to haul such modern advances this far is ludicrous! Alas you know the true reason, for they fear the next triumvirate, and the beings beyond the great eastern storms of the firmament. This is a device of survival, foolish to fear salvation you scoff. The building emerges cylindrical, tapering from the shiftings of the sand, and atop a dome of the strongest metallurgy with an oculus. Above the doorway reads Of the greatest gifts of the center sects. With this gift we hold steadfast against the encroaching sands. Until Salvation! To the right down the causeway it stands, like an Elephant’s foot planted in the crossing of some great rapid, supported by stone unseen to the eye, The Monastery. Three floors of narrow windows taper skyward up the plastered monolith in a gradient of bare stone to stucco. It envelops all of your vision, announcing without sound, it is fortitude, it is life, it is refuge. Massive double hardwood doors, imports from the inner lands.

I have to search for the next seed as a vessel for the incantation…