LADY of the weeping stone, sister-water to the Lake of the Scars. She appeareth as a row of white threads let down the face of a wounded wall, the meltwater of the high snows descending through fields of crimson regrowth to the cold lake waiting at the mountain’s foot. Her office is to carry the mountain’s grief: the snow that fell as ruin in the dark of the year leaves as water in the light of it, and she is the leaving. The red wood drinks at her passing and burns the brighter for it. Tears, in this realm, are not sorrow but payment, and the mountain pays them gladly down.
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