"Grow!" the word hung in the void, a prayer, a spell, full of desire and need, for all are the same in end.

As though it were a thinking being the seed seemed to hear and respond to demand of the little farmer.

Pol added his strength, his love to his lady's. "Grow!" he growled at seed as though it were a recalcitrant recruit.

And suddenly, the seed grew. Pol could no longer hold the bag, even with his great strength.

First a shoot, green and thin, the rapidity of its advancement and reach was astounding.

In the blink of an eye, or in an eternity, a tree formed and grew.

As the companions gazed on, the roots seemed to sink into the void, giving it shape and substance, growing more and more enormous. Creatures appeared, those of underground, beetles, ants and even wyurms, small and some few great ones.

The trunk grew expanding as well, along with the branches and leaves.

If they looked closely, they could see tiny people on the bark. Higher up in the branches Mananuan seemed to be laughing at them in the leaves. He seemed pleased about something.

Each felt themselves being pulled toward the trunk as though a giant vortex pulled and tugged at them. Faster and faster they were pulled toward the corrugation of the bark. As they got closer, it seemed to some that the bark was like frozen waves.

An eye blink later? A month? A year? The waves seemed to take on a life of their own rolling and crashing.

Before their wondering eyes, a tree seemed to be collapsing in on itself on a boat. It was turning into a staff in hands of an elder druid.

Ronan, seal of waves, was laughing aloud at the storm and calling for Mananuan to stop his horses at play.

And, suddenly they did. The sea became flat and calm and the sun whom some call Lugh shone on a scene of calm and tranquility.

A quiet voice asked, "Are we dead yet?"