For
a moment he sat still. Then he noticed that the boat was
drifting away from the shore.
With a start he once more manned his oars!
It was useless. The slow flowing waters of the Styx had now
branched off. This was a different river entirely!
He recognized it! Fearfully his eyes opened wide!
The Meander! A river that went on forever. Purposeless,
endless, going on forever!
He looked back.
No trace of the Styx was to be seen!
From the far shore he heard unearthly laughter!
An object he knew too well blended with the shadows there. The
unseen companion!
Night fell, the air cooled. Birds flew low in pursuit of
mosquito swarms. From the swampy shores growls and moans,
strange shrieks and lonesome howls disturbed the darkness. The
water lapped intermittently against the boat's side. Fish, or
creatures adapted to the Meander, leaped above the water,
splashed back to the surface. Nightbirds winged closed to the
boat, dived toward Demo, then veered away.
Finally, lulled by the boat's rocking, he fell asleep.
The frigid night air woke him. The vast waste of the river was
coated by a low-lying white fog. Above, a cold and desolate moon
shone full on the quiet scene below. At times white fluffy
clouds blocked its rays, then drifted on.
As morning approached a light breeze began to blow. The surface
fog, like disturbed ghosts, scattered, drifted, faded away.
False morning lit the sky, only to fade.
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