COVENANT of the standing stones, who keepeth the brotherhood of the towers. He appeareth wherever the brothers stand within sight of one another, squat kings of sandstone risen from a field of crimson scrub, the low fire of the living desert lapping at their feet while the sky behind them turns from rose to deep water-blue. His office is to hold the bond of the count: each tower keeps the others in view, and none stands so far out that the fire between them breaks the fellowship. The brush burns and is renewed with every season; the brothers do not burn, and are diminished a grain at a time. It is the oldest of bargains, the quick fire and the slow stone, each envying the other his portion.
The words above arrive with your print, pressed onto fine-art card.