Shadows on Water
"The path to the left should lead us down into the gorge and to the river we need to follow." you say.
In fact the path leads upwards slightly, along the mountainside, but far below to your right, you now and then here the voice of a torrent gushing over rocks, and you remain confident you'll find a path that will lead you down to it.
Hours later, and the footpath is now little more than a track made by animals through the tangled undergrowth. You're forced to dismount and carefully lead the horses through. You're certain you're headed in the right direction though, to turn back would be a huge waste of effort.
The four of you ride all afternoon making slow progress. Sunlight hardly penetrates the pines. As dusk deepens, a bluish mist seems to roll off the top of the mountain and blanket you in cold. It's hours since you heard the gushing water below, or indeed any sound besides your own footsteps.
The mist and approaching night are making it difficult to go on, and Fang suggests finding a place to make camp. He takes a torch from his pack and lights it, making a bright blur of the mist around you, but you still can't see more than a few metres ahead. The black boughs of the trees are all that break up the thick grey-blue. With nothing around for your eyes to rest on, your mind starts to wander. You fancy you are on the bottom of a cloudy lake, in a strange, unfathomable maze. To keep alert you begin a simple meditation, the counting of breath.
On the ninety-eighth count, the torch flickers out and you are plunged into total darkness.
In fact the path leads upwards slightly, along the mountainside, but far below to your right, you now and then here the voice of a torrent gushing over rocks, and you remain confident you'll find a path that will lead you down to it.
Hours later, and the footpath is now little more than a track made by animals through the tangled undergrowth. You're forced to dismount and carefully lead the horses through. You're certain you're headed in the right direction though, to turn back would be a huge waste of effort.
The four of you ride all afternoon making slow progress. Sunlight hardly penetrates the pines. As dusk deepens, a bluish mist seems to roll off the top of the mountain and blanket you in cold. It's hours since you heard the gushing water below, or indeed any sound besides your own footsteps.
The mist and approaching night are making it difficult to go on, and Fang suggests finding a place to make camp. He takes a torch from his pack and lights it, making a bright blur of the mist around you, but you still can't see more than a few metres ahead. The black boughs of the trees are all that break up the thick grey-blue. With nothing around for your eyes to rest on, your mind starts to wander. You fancy you are on the bottom of a cloudy lake, in a strange, unfathomable maze. To keep alert you begin a simple meditation, the counting of breath.
On the ninety-eighth count, the torch flickers out and you are plunged into total darkness.