Totnes, though however unlikely, might have a claim to being the birthplace of British Civilisation as the location of the landing of the Legendary Trojan, Brutus, along with his exhiled peoples.
Dartington Hall, and it's college of arts, has made the Dart my home as it was Brutus's, but soon my own exhile will come as this source of story is damned and is diverted to the draining Fal, spilling my words into the sea through a Mouth that is not mine.
The Source of the Dart is high on a moor that ancient tongues named after it; tongues that told tales of Giants who may never have lived there and tongues whose descendants now tell tales of Beasts and Big Cats and Padfoots.
The Waters of the Dart have ran across many stones, fallen from many foreign clouds, flowed through many other rivers; rivers that you know and one day will, rivers that your own story wil come across, cross & bridge, flowing with until the inevitability of the sea.
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