“Watchers! Grasp hands!” commanded Vafi.
“Flohad! Your hand!” said Menegal, groping to the right.
“Here it is, Menegal,” said Flohad, putting forth his hand into Menegal’s unseen one.
“I cannot see you, Wixtil. Where is your hand?” cried Luvilia, fumbling out to the left.

That night the watch was doubled, for the Persians would undoubtedly be there soon. No man slept that night. The watchmen stood at all the ends of the pass like stones with moonlight gleaming on their armor and helmets.

Coming to a halt for evening’s camp, Menegal wearily set himself down on the ground to rub his ankle that had swelled up again. He had walked mainly in silence for the ending of the march for he was thinking about Golwitch. Memories of playing in the lake that was in the valley where they had lived as children came into his mind, and of the hunts they had enjoyed together.

Going inside the tent of Tanvia, the Greek councilor, he found that Tanvia was talking to Leonidas. The two men were sitting on the ground on a richly colored mat. Tanvia matched it well. His clothes were orange, red, gold and deep blue. His eyes matched the inside walls of the green tent, and his face was smooth and without beard. His hair was shorn short and brown.

When Menegal awoke, it was dawn. He glanced at the tired Hilfarey at his side. Sitting up and trying to rise, he fell backward onto the pallet and realized he could not stand, unless with great pain on account of his ankle.

Despite the rain from the night before the sky was still a dusty, dirty blue color and the air was hot. The stone that the men walked upon was also hot, so if one stumbled, it burned their hands. No talk was exchanged between Menegal and Golwitch that day or for the next four, for they were too weary.

Early in the morning when the sun was just reaching the tips of the mountains, Menegal woke. In the night he was restless and could not sleep, having many dreams of continual feelings of no escape. Throwing off the bedcover, he prepared for the next march.

“What is troubling you my friend?” asked Golwitch, staring into the firelight which beamed on his face.
“I am not sure I know,” said Menegal. “But for certain, out of all misunderstanding, there is something that is going to happen to us all, which is grievous.”