The Knight and the Moth

The tor did not offer much life save whispering grass and gowan flowers and pale moths. They all bore a strange allegiance to Aisling Cathedral, dedicated to the tor and always minding the abbess, as if of the cathedral. Fed by mountainous snowdrift, this basin was a mother to the waterfall—a mother to the entire Tenor River. They had no memory of who they were or how they’d died, and oh—how obedient that made them.