To the north
I caught the shadows of the ruins of Nan-Tauach, where was the moon
door, black against the sky. Where was the moon door--which, someway,
somehow, I must reach, and quickly.
At dawn of the next day I got together driftwood and bound it together
in shape of a rough raft with fallen creepers. Then, with a makeshift
paddle, I set forth for Nan-Tauach. Slowly, painfully, I crept up to
it. It was late afternoon before I grounded my shaky craft on the
little beach between the ruined sea-gates and, creeping up the giant
steps, made my way to the inner enclosure.
And at its opening I stopped, and the tears ran streaming down my
cheeks while I wept aloud with sorrow and with disappointment and with
weariness.
For the great wall in which had been set the pale slab whose threshold
we had crossed to the land of the Shining One lay shattered and
broken. The monoliths were heaped about; the wall had fallen, and
about them shone a film of water, half covering them.
There was no moon door!
Dazed and weeping, I drew closer, climbed upon their outlying
fragments.
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