Getting back to the story from which i'm virtually & vicariously retelling this story within, after we come down off the highest hill on the island—an island with no mud or rivers but rather a rocky island in the middle of a sea—we decide we haven't had enough of walking. There is a fallen-over sign that says lighthouse in the language of those that live on this island, next to one of these plaques showing the guy carrying the cross. So we decide to continue on to see this lighthouse. Not the same lighthouse that brother says is a moon, or that the moon is a lighthouse, but a lighthouse nevertheless. A beacon. The clouds are darkening overhead & we are not prepared for more than a quick jaunt up the highest hill that at the time we left was sunny, but we continue, attracted to this lighthouse, to this siren. By the time we get there it is downright blustery, which perhaps makes this lighthouse seem more medieval than it is, like a castled rookery on an exposed jagged crag of spires—straight out of another famous book about two dwarf brothers that go looking for a ring. We are disappointed to discover that at a certain point we can go no further for they have installed a gate in a tunnel going through a cliff & we have no key. We huddle in a cave to see if the squall will pass but it appears it's here to stay. And rain is rain, it never killed anyone.