Reaching the gates to Brokgeard the Vigil tands guard, even broken, still as mighty as ever, a delicate exhample of what was here before the sun and the fire took the land, the landscape is dotted by spear shaped plants, somewhat crusty from the heat and dotted with dessecated spots, but the sun is retiring for now, and as soon as the slightest shade paints the rocks in a darker reddish hue, the plants burst forth into white and purple petals each of them as big as my face, but much more wonderful.