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We did not set up our tents that time but lay on the ground; next morning at dawn, when I looked around, the camp was like a country graveyard, for we were all covered with leaves, and each man was simply a long mound. The dawn came up an ominous rose-red. I love not the rosy dawn; a golden dawn or a chill-blue dawn is happy, but I fear the dawn of rose as the red headlight of a storm.
It was as flat as the head of a skate-fish, it was deathly pale, and two chill-blue eyes, dead-coloured like stones, looked out of it. Then there came a whisper, like the breath of the bitter east wind on a winter day: "Where are you, and how can I come to you?" "Here I am!" said the prince from the top of the hill.
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