It could not be real, he thought. It was a fragile city spun out of dreams, so small that he could have held it on the palm of his hand and blown it away into silver mist. It was not real. He had dreamed of it for so long that now, when he looked down into the valley, the mist formed itself into and towards spires that would vanish under the sun the moment he shut his eyes... He shut his eyes, opened them, and the towers were still there.
