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Updated: June 26, 2025
Behind them, the Lichstorm Mountains were blotted out from view by a haze that had gathered together. The sky ahead, just above the horizon, began to be of a strange colour. It was an intense jale-blue. The whole northern atmosphere was stained with ulfire. Maskull's mind grew disturbed. "Alppain is rising, Gangnet." Gangnet smiled wistfully. "It begins to trouble you?"
"Still, a cut with a pocket-knife " began Maskull, laughing. "It will answer, Maskull," interrupted Nightspore. "Then bare your arm too, you aristocrat of the universe," said Krag. "Let us see what your blood is made of." Nightspore obeyed. Krag pulled out the big blade of the knife, and made a careless and almost savage slash at Maskull's upper arm. The wound was deep, and blood flowed freely.
Its dark, distant plateau continued to dominate the landscape, and after walking for an hour they seemed none the nearer to it. The air was stale and stagnant. By and by, an upright object, apparently the work of man, attracted Maskull's notice. It was a slender tree stem, with the bark still on, imbedded in the stony ground.
When they reached the sands, he sliced the fish, removed the entrails, and digging a shallow hole in a patch of violet sand, placed the remainder of the carcasses in it, and covered them over again. Then he dug up his own dinner. Maskull's nostrils quivered at the savoury smell, but he was not yet to dine.
There were no insects to irritate them. The bright lake outside looked cool and poetic. Gangnet pressed Maskull's arm affectionately. "If the bringing of you from your world had fallen to me, Maskull, it is here I would have brought you, and not to the scarlet desert. Then you would have escaped the dark spots, and Tormance would have appeared beautiful to you." "And what then, Gangnet?
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