Fred followed the low, graceful, and melancholy song, if that is what you could call it. There were no words, yet in listening to it he had a vivid image of - weariness, and a certain lack of hope. That would be natural in this desolate land, where he had thought that he was the only living soul. Fred approached, and the song naturally got became clearer, and he became aware of an odd flickering light. It was that of a campfire, but something about it appeared distinctly unnatural. Fred could now see his shadow, and sniff the sharp, smoky, grey plume from the fire that drifted in his direction. There was nothing unusual - it was the smell of a burning pine log. Fred stared at the fire. The colour seemed wrong - it was that of a dim orange red, more like a horseshoe that had just been heated to the point where it started to glow, rather than the bright yellow and orange that one would expect of a friendly fire. Fred could also observe something else unusual. Sitting by the fire was
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5/21/2003 8:26:12 PM
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