Our lands are amid the waters of the inner sea, enfolded in mist, protected from the harshness of the outside world. As we say, “Any trouble that comes must fit in a boat. How big can it be?”
The rivers and lochs are full of fish, there are red deer and boar in the copses, herbs abound for food and for mendicants, and fruit trees crown the high hills.
We have no needs that would force us to look to those over the sea, nor do we have much they would want to trade to gain. Our lives are simple, but long, though not as long as our memories. Few are the folk from the outside who value peace and knowledge, but those who come may find those things.
We know that our people came to these isles from the stars, Our sailing ship in the clouds. Our projenitors came to this land bringing Old World plants and Old World animals with which to re-create their old land.
They succeeded. Dana Bailey planned to re-create the magical Tuatha de, living as they did, and despite her and her rapacious “god” children, her dream is fulfilled here on these green isles.
Here we live more simply than we could. We choose to hunt and gather though we know of agriculture, and the many ancient magics. The material life is not for us. We are children of the green isles, children of the mist.