By night we fly in the clouds above the Highlands and watch as their white peaks pass below us. There's a dizzying fall between me and the cold earth below. The hum of the prop plane's old engine reverberates in the cabin, but outside the world is silent. Stars watch us as we flit between the clouds and the open sky.
And all the while I know we are headed towards him, at the end of the world. In complete isolation, he waits for us. His names are many. His history is terrible. He will likely be our death. Yet we must meet him all the same. Because no one else has killed an angel and lived.
Paddy Dobson
5th February 2022