Peoples come and peoples go, single threads in a tapestry the size of the Earth, leaving their dreams scattered upon the desert floor to be scavenged or marveled at by their successors, who in turn are scattered to the four winds, leaving behind the dry shells of their own dreams to be marveled at or quarried in turn as the land they played out those dreams on continues it's own dreams with or without them – and Epona's Mirror was one such place.

To the Neanderthals, the perfectly round spring welling up out of the valley floor was a marvel, a reflection of the moon even as it reflected the deep blue of the sky back at itself. Their simple offerings of bones with the outlines of horses and women scratched upon them were soon swept aside by the Mureybet people with their rectangular houses and simple pottery, the Mirror becoming a shrine and a well in the high desert in a land held by the Sumerians, the Eblaites, the Akkadians, Assyrians, Egyptians, Hittites, Hurrians, Mitanni, Amorites, and Babylonians followed by the Persians – all leaving the shells of their dreams for lizards to bask upon and peasants to pull apart piece by piece by piece to build their sheep pens and grain bins as the next wave of dreams washed over them in tides of blood, fire, and administrative paperwork.

Alexander held the land for the blink of an eye, the Mirror one more possession in his treasure house of Empire, little regarded for of its humbleness, it's remoteness, in his inexorable march to India– never seeing his face reflected back at him framed by the blue of infinity in its water as he rode into history on Bucephalus.

The Romans followed, with their temples and roads – and the Mirror gained a roof, a single oculus overhead, a round portal allowing what was now a shrine to a Celtic horse goddess, a protectoress of cavalry to stare up into infinity, the water of it's making quietly surging from below, silently overspilling the acanthus carven lip which now encircled it in Pentalic marble – only to become a shrine to "The Virgin of Horses" by the the Byzantines and then the Crusaders, because of the robed woman seated upon a crescent moon flanked by horses, some with wings, carved into the fronting pediment, the starry mosaics overhead celebrating Epona plastered over in honor of the mother of a god with huge dark eyes painted atop, only to be whitewashed in turn by their heirs who despised all imagery: the Umayyads, the Ottomans, the Arabs– all in their turn leaving the bones of their dreams scattered upon the desert floor, so that the temple turned church turned mosque surrounding the Well of the Horsees, was now a forsaken place of tumbled pillars and mosaic stones, the surrounding olive trees all gone but a handful untended, once more open to the sky, dreaming its own dreams, reflecting the moon back at itself even as gazelles, foxes, and the rare flock of goats and the furtive boys who tended them, partook of Epona's Mirror's blessing unseen as those who would re-mold the land that cradled it in their image, a land which only answered to itself, battled to the death in far more important places.