The morning sunshine warmed him as he lay upon the grass.
Arriving in the moments before the dawn as he always had, the Dagda stripped off his clothes and waded out, waist deep, into the river's depth. As the first rays of the sun's light were captured by the water, he raised it in the bowl of his cupped hands and poured it over his head and face.

Breathing in deeply and exhaling slowly with every movement, he repeated the process again and again.
The Dagda cleansed his body, and with it his spirit.

It was a cold bleak day, somehow fitting for what was to come. The building, brick red and smog stained had stood as a crossing station of life for many years. Filled with peoples coming and going, toing and froing, it was always a bustle of noise and tumult, and not just to ones ears.

The automatic doors rolled back to admit him, with a whoosh of warm air against his skin. The breath of the building was heady with many trace scents. His nose took them in and as he feet moved assuredly towards the stair he began to catalogue them.