"The healer made his way to the Green Isle, slowly against thestrong currents of the King's Strait, ready to continue his fatiguing fight against the Greyache illness decimating the Islanders. The brothers and wise women carers of many harbours had already exhausted their bodies in this recurring struggle for the lives and souls of those in their care. Most of them had died and Ghairoche was himself the last of the the FarIsle Healers, called from his beehive cell on lonely Inis Skellighe. Ever since the summer of the three kings, darkness and plague seemed to have stalked the Outer and Inner Isles. None of the undermanned, islander, fishing fleet had returned yet from distant Arcady-over-the-ocean, while sudden, savage storms intermittently lashed these unsheltered shores. His spirit remained undaunted, however, after having received word from a passing, rugged, grey dolphin, loyal servant of the ailing Fisher Princess that some local herbs, growing in an isolated cove appeared to be having a consistent effect in dealing with the high fever and wasting of the Greyachhe scourge. Ghairoche, son of Oakfather, gathered his thoughts, carefully went through his depleted herbal supplies, once again, and renewed his prayers in hope that the Creator had made known a cure at last." --- Fragments of the Chronicle of Ghairoche, monk and healer - published at Edwinstoun, Castle Carra, in the fifth year of Queen Iona Another slight tale of the FarIsles, and the Dalriata history recovered from the memory of the elder islanders and committed to whale bound books and oral history. Render made in old faithfull, and still working in Windows 10, Terragen 0.97, using a 2048x2048 .ter file made in GeoControl 2, and a laptop unwilling to use its graphics card .. ;o) I wish well to all viewers and invite them to view some more of the fragments scattered throughout my sparse gallery. After a series of bereavements of those invited to our wedding, or families of those invited, in particular the many from my wife's home village, it does feel that illness stalks those who care for us, but we have hope, whether Christian, Muslim or Animist, that they have gone to a better place. May God shelter those who have died and those who care for them. God bless us all, and with a closely fought general election, and some terrorist attacks in my own state, I pray for the future of my country men and women and, in particular, children, for those who have suffered and those who protect us, but not for the political future of those who lie consistently to us. In Scotland, at the last general election we almost had a clean sweep of the corrupt politicians, but their huge media propaganda machine has been in overdrive these past months, as they try to instill fear into every voter. They are afraid of losing the income from oil around Scotland's waters and being told to take their nuclear missiles back into Little England. Their leaders make most of us sick, some angry, some falling into depression, or worse. A government is supposed to look after the welfare of its citizens, not disenfranchise them, reduce them to the poor house and protect instead the very wealthy. Worst of all is the toxic environment of constant barefaced lies. Written in one of the outer isles, the novel 1984, was perhaps just a wee bit early. Maggie had a group in her cabinet which prevented her from being too ruthless. Neither Cameron nor May have any such limits on their greed and malice, and the foreign owned press back her every orchestrated move.