Helm is the mysterious, ferocious wind that has ravaged the Eden Valley since time began. Helm observes humanity across the centuries like an endless, beguiling soap opera. Helm's existence is charted by a tapestry of human stories. All beautifully told, these human snippets range from playful to mystical, from raw and visceral to witty and warm as they consider humanity's relationship to nature. You will be blown away by Helm and left windswept.
Helm notices. Among their tendencies, humans like to blame others. When things go wrong. For their pains. The mistakes they have made. For their unfortunate goings-on. They especially like to blame Helm.
They blame Helm for all their miserable illnesses and ailments. Th poxes and puses, the agonies and accidents, the frailties of flesh and brain.
They blame Helm for the major damages, which, to be fair, are often undeniable. Bruises. Blindings. Lacerations. Concussions. Broken Limbs. Fractured hips. Crushed feet. Staved fingers. Torn ligaments. Strokes. Dislocations. Decapitation (for the record, only one occasion of beheading). Helm is the indefensible culprit, caught red-handed in the middle of acts of grievous bodily harm. Battering. Beating. Shoving. Crushing. Dragging. Abrading. Grazing. Maiming. Even (yes your honour) cold-blooded killing.
