Soon the travellers arose and pushed on northwards again, leaving us wondering.  Through the heat of the day we rested as well as we might, but the air was motionless and sultry and the camels ill at ease.  The Arabs said that it boded a desert storm, and that a great wind would arise full of sand.  So we arose in the afternoon, and travelled swiftly, hoping to come to shelter before the storm.  And the air burned in the stillness between the baked desert and the glaring sky.

Suddenly a wind arose out of the South, blowing from Babbulkund, and the sand lifted and went by in great shapes, all whispering.  And the wind blew violently, and wailed as it blew, and hundreds of sandy shapes went towering by, and there were little cries among them and the sounds of a passing away.  Soon the wind sank quite suddenly, and its cries died, and the panic ceased among the driven sands.  And when the storm departed the air was cool, and the terrible sultriness and the boding were passed away, and the camels had ease among them.  And the Arabs said that the storm which was to be had been, as was willed of old by God.

The sun set and the gloaming came, and we neared the junction of Oonrana and Plegathanees, but in the darkness discerned not Babbulkund.  We pushed on hurriedly to reach the city ere nightfall, and came to the junction of the River of Myth where he meets with the Waters of Fable, and still saw not Babbulkund.  All round us lay the sand and rocks of the unchanging desert, save to the southwards where the jungle stood with its orchids facing skywards.  Then we perceived that we had arrived too late, and that her doom had come to Babbulkund; and by the river in the empty desert on the sand the man in rags was seated, with his face hidden in his hands, weeping bitterly.

* * * * * * *

Thus passed away in the hour of her iniquities before Annolith, in the two thousand and thirty-second year of her being, in the six thousand and fiftieth year of the building of the World, Babbulkund, City of Marvel, sometime called by those that hated her City of the Dog, but hourly mourned in Araby and Ind and wide through jungle and desert; leaving no memorial in stone to show that she had been, but remembered with an abiding love, in spite of the anger of God, by all that knew her beauty, whereof still they sing.

The Kith of the Elf Folk

Chapter I

The north wind was blowing, and red and golden the last days of Autumn were streaming hence.  Solemn and cold over the marshes arose the evening.

It became very still.

Then the last pigeon went home to the trees on the dry land in the distance, whose shapes already had taken upon themselves a mystery in the haze.

Then all was still again.

As the light faded and the haze deepened, mystery crept nearer from every side.