As the mists spiral before you, you catch a glimpse of green, a flash of movement and the sound of the drum mingling with the voice of the singer who is your guide. Her voice is a siren call and you follow, hungry for a time that is long in the past. As you pass into the grey formless space ahead, the ground beneath your feet seems to fall away, though you do not fall with it. The mist is cold, but it does not chill you. As you follow the sound of the song, it tells you of perfect love, of the hero who fights for a name that will last forever, of times past and times yet to come. Green hills beckon, outlined by the beat of the drum, growing more solid as you move toward them, and water flows through the sound of her voice, cascading down the strings of a harp. As the mists give way, she is standing on the hillside, waiting to welcome you.