After many moons aback his horse, the veil of distance lifted, and Ænor first beheld Yggdrasil, the World Tree. From eastern horizon to western horizon, its trunk cleaved to the Firmament with great gnarled knots unfurling into filament-thin roots drinking in life-giving draughts of æther. Far, far above, its vast leaves of cerulean blue whispered the soft murmurs of time. Under the shade of the boughs the luminous fruit could be seen to sparkle and shimmer. Somewhere on one of those worlds, along one and only one path of trunk and branch and twig and stem, she was waiting for him. He shouldered his pack and began to climb.