"
"That tomorrow may come?"
"Great! You've got it! Farewell, and a safe journey!"
Transitions? Shadow land? So that tomorrow will come? Has Zeus
reached his dotage! Demo would ask more, except that he found
himself suddenly alone. Alone, but where? Surely this was not
his own world.
The gray fog swirled, settled, then swirled again. Dimly
objects could be seen. And movement. They were there, or so it
seemed. Yet, what objects? And what moved?
Silence accompanied the fog. Or, perhaps, preceded it.
Regardless, the only sound was his own breathing.
A light was approaching. Small, at first almost non-existent,
it loomed larger, though no brighter. A silhouette, vague and
distorted, carried the lantern. At times both disappeared as the
fog thickened.
The approach stopped. Plainly they sensed his presence. The
lantern was held higher, and he could catch glimpses of a
woman's face. There was anxiety in her eyes, even fear, as she
gazed at him.
"Sir, whence cometh thou? Thee be not of our world. Flee to thy
home, for he walks the moors this night!"
"I . . . I am sent by Zeus. You say one walks this night? Who
walks the moors this night? And why should I fear?"
"None is safe alone in the dark. If you have not where to go
then come with me. Quickly, quickly!"
He followed her down dark alleys, twisting streets. The earth
was wet, and muddy water flowed in rivulets crisscrossing their
way. Varied smells, of vegetables, of cooked meats, and of
decay, tinted the air.
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