“Look for the smoke, mo stoirín. It will guide you to the truth that lies buried under the mountain.” I half-smile, half-wince at the platitude, a familiar one in this land of sleeping volcanoes. “There will be no mountains in the Capital, Ceannaire.” “Ah, mo stoirín.” She smiles back, the wrinkles deepening at the corners of her eyes. “Everyone is a mountain.”
"Everyone is a mountain"
