Dragon and Mask II---
Meanwhile, Her Grace Lady Roselynda The High Baroness of The Upper River Ways was playing with alphabet blocks. She had spelled 'DUAAGN.'
"Dwagon!" she announced proudly. A tired-looking man in a fancy but threadbare suit rearranged a few of Her Grace's blocks. "There you go, D-R-A-G-O-N. Dragon."
But the young Baroness had already detected the approach of her favourite giant green flying-thing and was tottering off to greet it.
An eight-foot tall flying lizard, Skyleth to his human friends, swooped through a window that had been specially widened for the purpose and into the playroom.
"Nye-uhl!" proclaimed the Baroness, and flung herself at the creature's belly. 'Nye-uhl' caught her in the crook of one forearm with practiced ease and squeezed her gently against his neck.
"Hewwo Your Adorableness!" he said to the child, then "Hullo Percival," to the man.
"Greetings, Nigel," said Percival. "You're a few min
Dragon and Mask IJust at the top of this hill, past the tall bushes, there's a cliff. It's about ten feet down; you'll have to climb carefully. At the bottom there's a small stream flowing down out of the bush into a little pipe under the highway. Run your hand along the rock wall until you find a small, round indentation. Take something small and round -- a marble will do fine if you have the right size -- and fill the hole. Count to five slowly, then turn back to the pipe. You'll now find it's easily big enough to walk through. Walk under the highway on the left side of the trickle of water, and if you hear a car approaching stop until it has passed. If you do this wrong, you'll find yourself emerging from the pipe where you entered it. If you do it right, you'll have the opportunity to meet some very interesting people.
At first Marty thought he'd done something wrong. He'd fo
Song that Never WasIs there really a song?
I thought I remembered
A scrap of a shadow,
The clearest of notes
I was lost for so long
I thought I'd discovered
A hope of escaping
In fragments of tune.
I once thought I was wrong
Was just an illusion
A thing misremembered
Of simpler times.
And yet still there's the song
Still haunting my mem'ry
From just out of reach.
And I think, though I long
To truly remember
Twas merely invention
There was never a song.
There Used to be Bells HereThe old church has been gone for some seasons now, but the memory runs deep. When the wind blows they still listen by the windows for the jingle and clang of absent bells. Today the wind howls a low and unaccompanied song of mourning, shaking the trees, rattling the fences and tugging at the coats of the few who go out on such days.
Sitting on the sidewalk curb just across the street from the construction is a tired man. He stares wistfully through where the church once stood. He has been there since early morning, before the clouds rolled in and the wind rose up. One of the construction workers calls to him across the road:
"Hey, what're you doing over there?"
The man raises his head. He has a well-trimmed beard and deep-set eyes. He looks older than he is. "Nothing. Just thinking."
"You've been here all day. Think anything interesting?"
"You know what used to be here?"