(PROLOGUE) resonating deep echoes of a gong far gone the gloomy day a baby turned in its mother’s womb who gets to choose the door to enter this world the land is hot bloodied in human sweat the recollections are as forgetful as clouds are as the clear springs child, are you sure it’s not too much... we grow up with endless stars gleaming without having to ever choose O mountain art thou so tall yet the footprints, they are in every corner, all across everything across life and death separated by, but a step on the ladder The West highlands is vast to the very end of bloodshed mother taught us how to view…