The flames reflected from the precipice's base, their warmth
welcomed as cool night crept in. Beyond the fire light
nightsounds rose and fell, now near, now far.
He added wood to the fire, wrapped himself in his Eddie Bauer
mummy bag. Ah, how pleasant to sleep after a long day's journey.
It was a sleep beleaguered by dreams. Dreams of he who dwelled
in the deep tarn. In the dreams the creature came forth, looked
down on the sleeping youth. It's eyes were cold, held deadly
enmity.
Yet, it did not strike. Motionless it observed him, turned, and
descended once more into the frigid waters.
Morning came early. Demo sat up, wide-eyed. From the tarn's
brink to his resting place he saw footprints. A great weight had
pressed them, even into the dryer ground. They turned back, led
once more to the tarn.
Demo closed his eyes, breathed deeply. What manner of creature,
and why had it turned away, doing him no harm? The footprints,
though huge, seemed hardly those of some monstrous being capable
of frightening even the Lords of Olympus.
Demo stirred the ashes to reveal hot colds beneath, fed twigs
and breathed gently on them to kindle a fire. As he placed
larger branches on the flames he heard behind him the sound of
measured footsteps.
With a start he turned.
The man looking down at him loomed tall and ominous. He showed
no emotion. Rather, his face was calm, nor did his demeanor
suggest threat. Slowly Demo rose, glanced toward his bow and
quiver.
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