I stood in what seemed to be the air above a long plain cut by a silver river. It is night, the slim face of the moon on the water breaks the slow current. In the darkness, dark forms converge together. There is murmuring, a sudden light, a single torch, then darkness again. The pale sliver of moon slips behind a cloud. The voice of the old man beside me says this is a land far to the west. I keep my eyes on the scene before me.

We are above what seems to be an enormous tomb with a rounded top. My fathers too, sleep in caves, but it seems to me as if this one has been built with human hands. In the torchlight, a circle of gray stones is visible at the base of the great mound. The façade glitters white, and I can halfway make out what appears to be thousands of individual white stones placed to catch the light.

The voice whispers beside me: this is a land far to the West.

The voice sounds amused. These are things I know nothing about. I only listen. Before the monument stands a stone and on it, a curious pattern—three spirals, interlaced. As the darkness begins to slowly fade, I can make out a man in a long brown robe standing behind the spiral rock, at the entrance of the tomb. He is holding an unlit torch.

Father, I say, why am I here. The voice smiles from all around me. You will know.

I can feel something now. It draws closer to dawn. In the full darkness beyond the small hills, beyond the gathering shadows, something begins to feel its strength, clumsy and raw. A dull howl echoes through the sparse shrub and soft grass of the island sanctuary. The man in the brown robe falls to his knees. The shadows move. Other men emerge from enclosures near the river, begin to gather at the tomb.

I feel the warmth of his regard on my back as he says to me, watch, and understand.

I see it suddenly, like another torch, a pale finger of light on the horizon. It shoots like a comet over what reveals itself as lush green hills such as I have never seen in my sparsely watered land. I see, suddenly above the doorway to the tomb a square opening, like a window. The light shoots through it. The man in the brown robes rises to his feet and descends into the belly of the tomb.

Father, I say, I do not understand. I feel his warm, kindly regard on me though again I cannot see him. You will, he says.

The beam of light broadens, a phantom walks up the narrow passage, lighting the dust. The wind grabs me again, and we are gone.