Two walked parallel roads to Luib Chonnal and the two Carn Dearg Corbetts, two days of high winds and sometimes too heavy hearts, nights laced with quiet companionship, drams and a viscous silence. Some rest, of the restless kind. Cradled in the crook of the arm of an Irish Princess, mute vigil on charcoal thumbed smudges of land scaped to assume new shapes with each soul that passes through. Poised between the headwaters of two great rivers, this steading is a gathering place, a beginning and ending, our brief still point in a fast spinning world, third eye to passing personal storms. Before dawn, pressed into the dark I lay sleepless and anthropomorphise. Ground to map and map to ground, it's how we try to make sense of the world... and a flint of me wonders if it's how it tries to makes sense of us.