Ch. 3 Rod & Peach Mountains

Chapter 3: Peach Mountains

The Dowsing Rod:

Tomek did not hear any more of the moon-maiden, the singing nymph, the next days.    So he heads south.   

Coming soon to a sheer dropoff.   He stands at the brink of the largest, steepest cliff on the isle.   This is 'the outlook', as it's called by the natives, and as he'd later learn, — because of the way its triangular point jutted out, pointing towards a pair of pyramidal mountains in the distance.  

These pyramids are a pair of volcanoes, the ‘Twin Peaks’, the highest elevations of this land.   They are indeed beautiful, majestic mountains, with perfect slopes.   Now and then wisps of clouds drifted by, temporarily obscuring them, only to reveal them again in time.    The perfume clouds, blowing in from the deep south.  

They were ancient, believed to be semi-dormant, but one could often see wisps of steam rising from their peaks.    They are considered sacred mountains to the people here, and rituals were held here to beseech the Gods.

From where Tomek stood, the air is cool, fresh, and clean, but not particularly exciting.   But when a small breeze blows in from the south, it is warm, humid, and laden with that strong, floral, earth scent the isle is known for.    It was even visible, — with little wispy trails of rose-colored scent floating in the air.

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Tomek found a path along the far side of the bluff, and descended.    At the bottom is a sandy, very narrow strip of land that connected where he’d been with the main body of land.   Bluets, and red carnations grew here, and a flock of geese were feeding.   It was barely above sea level, and in stormy times, this neck of land could be completely submerged, and then the northern region would be completely cut off from the mainland, existing as its own isle.

On the other side, the island quickly spread out to its full width.   Tomek adjusted the backpack on his shoulders and went on in.     

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    He is on her trail.
Maiden of the magic moon.
He is on her tail.
And this be their tale.

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How, on this huge land, could he find the moon-maiden?   He stood, every now and then, and furled up his nose in the wind, sniffing the air.     He tried to match one of the many floral scents of the isle with that of the panties.   When he recognized ‘her’ scent, he would go off in that direction.   

When the trace was faint, he would stop and sniff again.   But often he lost her trail altogether.    The winds were wrong, or there were too many similar odors, as when he passed through a village of many young maidens, or when he passed a group of fishermen hauling in their catch.     

Then he would stop, lower his pants, and take out his 'dowsing rod’.    For a man’s ‘spirit-pole’ is also his spirit guide’, and it makes the very best of dowsing rods.    A sacred dowsing rod.    It knows where fecund waters pool under a woman’s dry, stony exterior.    In the dryest of deserts, it will seek out the deep well where she flows.

He always turned slowly to face the four directions, holding and waving his spirit rod in the air.    It was well trained, a potent dowser that he was quite proud of, and could read as easily as a weather vane.    When it sensed her wet pastures, it would tingle and quiver.    And when he faced in exactly her direction, when it had sniffed out the direction of she who was meant for him, it pointed, then pulled, and even dragged him along in its chase.    All Tomek had to do was follow his own ‘leader’.   

Indeed, the only complaint Tomek had about his ‘Guide’, was that it was a bit too urgent, and too impatient.   He often felt he was running along behind it just to keep from tearing himself in two.  

He had tried, up at Eagle spire on the fatherland isle, to tame it.    And after years of effort, he had some fair success with this.   But this fair maiden had blown everything to pieces.    Now it raged like a galloping wild horse, free of any rein.