Upon reaching the crest of the hill, Colin saw the northern road they sought. It stretched from misty Eastern horizon across the land until it disappeared into the rolling hills to the west. A low, eroded drystone wall, maybe waist high, stood between the horse mounted people and the road itself.
Standing mutely upon the other side of the road was its most breathtaking feature. A line of trilithic lintels, rough-hewn out of cold, grey granite. As the travelers approached, the cosmically old stones loomed higher, twelve feet or more. Beyond them lay nothing but a grassy heath, studded by outcroppings of weathered beige stone. Obviously, the granite did not come from nearby.
Drogonian pointed to a crumbled section of wall, where the stonework had crumbled into a pile low enough for the stolid ponies to clamber over. Colin dismounted, lead his steed over the wall, and across the road to the great stones beyond. Reaching out to touch one, he felt the chill of the centuries that had laid upon this heath and these stones.
Aller's voice rumbled over his shoulder, "The last great works of an unknown people. What kingdom or empire lifted these stones into place is not known to any of the wise or the learned. Nor is what purpose was served."
Amanda shivered, hunching deeper into the hoods of her cloak and tattered sweatshirt. "Maybe it's like Stonehenge? Except in a line instead of a circle?"
"Or perhaps it says simple 'We who built these stones once were great, and now are gone," intoned Drogonian from his mount. "Come, we should be going. There is not much day in these northern lands, and the evening will be filled with mist. We ought to make as great a distance as we may."
Googlebombing for a cause: www.minnesotangos.org