Lionheart lived in the old jail cell. He was captured here and so he stayed in the hole in the wall, the one with the heavy iron door. The castle sits high, as a castle should, and was perilous for its time. It feels tiny up there, stacked, crammed, and cold.
Beyond the walls, though, is the where the deep breath finds you. Most of the structure has fallen and you’re left with the bare bones. I climbed to the very top — which you could, there were no signs — and stood on the jail cell’s roof. I was as tall as I’d ever been, feeling the wind swirl around me as guard.
When you’re in such places, what do you do? When your vision stretches for miles, what is it you really see? So goes the paradox, I’ve realized, since I had to climb back down in order to find out.