Wild mountains called out to me, and pulled me in confusion to their feet. Pools of sea camomile covered my toes, filling the air with the heady scent of sleep, while soft purple clouds drifted in halos around their summits. The stories of Skye fall freshly woven from these slopes, and today the wild geese reminded me of the Norse princess sleeping eternally at the soft peak of Beinn na Cailleach. She listens still to the whispered prayers rising from the glens, granting sweet summer puddles of honey and heather. Tiny bursts of apricot light gave fleeting highlights to the already dramatic landscape, and somewhere behind me the sea whispered of the past and the road home.