No one knew the purpose of Rhymer’s Tomb. It stood on its knoll for as long as men had memories and speech to record its presence. It withstood the vagaries of nature and man and refused to give up the secrets of which all who saw it knew it contained. Perhaps it was that obduracy that drew men to its side or perhaps it was some mystic quality that men of old knew without learning. Whatever the magic, men gathered in its lee, taking shelter and protection from its constancy.
Time pocked it but its defences did not crack. Even as rationality overtook instinct, still it resisted men’s attempts to pierce its carapace. Theories abounded and while educated ears deafened many to its draw, there were still those whose ability to hear was not dulled by the lure of education. Those dwindling few stayed, unable to articulate what kept them there but harsh were they in their resistance to rules that dictated their removal.
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