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Somewhere to the far west of these lands, close to the end of the world, there is an island; somewhere in your dreams you’ve seen it. Long sandy beaches, rocky coves, stormy seas. From the cliff-tops on its westernmost shores, you might sometimes catch a glimpse of Tír na mBan, the Isle of Women, way out on the horizon. When the sky is blue and the air is still – which happens rarely enough in those parts, for on that island the wind blows hard and long through the dark days of winter, and summer is precious and fleeting. Somewhere along the stormiest section of that westernmost shore is a cave where they say the Old Woman of the World once lived, with her companion Trickster Crow – but no one I’ve met has ever found that cave, though many have searched, and many have drowned in the process. Maybe she’s still there, the people whisper — there by her great fire, stirring the cauldron of soup which contains all of the seeds and all of the herbs and the essence of all the growing and living things in the world. Maybe she’s still there, working on the most beautiful weaving in the world, with its fringe of sea-urchin quills; day and night, weaving the world into being. Maybe she’s still there, singing over the bones of all the creatures of the world, singing them back to life …

If you wanna read something fun, check out 21 Questions to Ask a Girl on LifeHacks

Welcome to the Bone Cave. Enter here …