Sojourner

I write in the Land of Broken Plates, so called because of its mosaic, patch-work appearance, a landscape formed by lost fragments and uneven roadways; but also by the fractured line of
green mountains that border it. Its ruler is a pot-bellied tyrant named King Murdoch the Thief, who lives in a palace constructed entirely of words. The fact that he stole every single one of these words, does not detract from the extreme beauty and architecture of this building and that reality brings a terrible sadness to the land.

To get there seems always by accident. The ways in are both many and mysterious. Once there though, is to forget the outside world, for there are foes at every corner and colourful dragons the
size of houses. Only when you have battled a dragon can you sit together and share a meal, usually Cornish pasties and a flagon of wine, and they tell you many secrets and grumble about the tyrant King who is a threat to all of us. Sometimes, along the broken roads, you see another dragon battler, another sojourner, on an opposite hill and you wave, too far away to be heard. But you keep travelling, knowing that beyond the shard-like mountains there is a place of peace, with a home to rest in, made of your own words. The way through the mountains is narrow and subject to the tyrant’s sorcery. But there are many dragons who, once battled, will lift their incredible wings and take you home.