Moonlit water is lovely. In the open, moonlight looks like what it is. Moonlight filtered through thick leaves is another matter altogether. You lose all perception of mass and depth, all sense of direction. A patch of moonlight becomes a solid, glowing entity; the huge oak beside it, a mass of emptiness. I knew, of course, when I crossed the invisible boundary into the precinct of the forbidden. Not only did I feel a tremor, like a not-so-mild electric shock, but the air around me became still and watchful. Even the Afon Braint seemed to flow more quietly, almost furtively. I had crossed the stream earlier, not wanting to risk splashing or slipping once I was in the Dark Grove. Now I walked along its left bank, peering through the trees, trusting that I would see or sense when to turn from the stream towards the mound. So disorienting was the moonlight that if it hadn’t been for the water on my right I might have wandered aimlessly in circles. I was beginning to wonder if I had walked too far and somehow missed the mound, when an owl cried so loudly and so close to me that the bones in my head vibrated.
