Ouroboros Spine yn rhedeg mewn cylchoedd

When he was a child, his mother--from the great Cadfael line, the warrior-poets--had told him stories. Not the honeyed nursery rhymes other parents in other cultures might give their pups; no, Rhonwen had given him history, legend, all in perfect verse. It was from these stories from which his fervor to become a great warrior sprung, and it is as he climbs the stout mountains to gaze upon the muddy, waterlogged valley below does one of Rhonwen's stories once again come to his mind.

"My grandfather was named for Colwyn, ruler of the rains," she whispered, curling her tail around her pups. Two of his sisters were asleep, but Seren--his favorite, though he'd never admit as much to the others--was keenly listening alongside him, still-blue eyes shining. "Many said that when Colwyn said the right words, the rain would fall."

But there were skeptics, naturally, and during the midst of a great battle came Colwyn's true test. It had been a particularly dry summer, and an army from the neighboring kingdom were coming swiftly to Mynydd, in numbers far greater than their rivals could boast. The only thing standing in their way was a river--but the river's waters were lower than ever, due to the drought, and the enemies would be able to forge it with ease. Desperate to preserve his honor and his lands, the king called upon Colwyn, his nephew right-hand man, to demonstrate his powers at last: to prove he was true, and not a charlatan like many others at court suggested.

Colwyn stood atop a rock, looking at the heavens, and began chanting in verse, eyes closed against the still summer air. For some time, nothing happened, and the wolves of Mynydd began to jeer; some called for his head. As he was being dragged from his perch by an angry mob, a clap of thunder silenced all, and clouds rolled in. Torrential rain began to fall, blanketing the ground in sheets of fresh water. The river began to rise, sweeping down, wave after wave, drowning all enemy warriors in its path. The army was defeated.

"He was a hero from there on out," Rhonwen said, a smile coming to her delicate muzzle. "When he eventually became king, he was one of the most beloved rulers Mynydd ever has had. We speak of him in the same breath as Taliesin and Cadwalader." A triumvirate of great kings, but Colwyn had always been his favorite; each and every clap of thunder brought his name to mind, and his mother's musical voice back into his head.

Now he stands atop these mountains, looking into the flooded valley. Some would say an act of god submerged this place, but Llewellyn knows better. This was Colwyn's work, and he feels at home here, despite the soggy ruin.