A quite graveyard…the wind stirs the grass on the burial mounds while the moon, waning, looks down in the dim light it casts. The wind moans, or is it the wind? Could the sprits of this sacred land be waking? Can you see them? Are they really there? What do they want? Are they calling you? Mahap it is just the wind, but perhaps we should still go? I love Celtic mythology and I wanted to try my hand at something kinda spooky. This is a simple pencil sketch.