He got up, yawned again, stretched himself, and looked around him dully.  For a long time he eyed the grave.  The half-darkness changed by imperceptible degrees to full day; the sun was about to appear.  The sky was nearly cloudless.  The whole wonderful extent of the mighty ridge behind him began to emerge from the morning mist... there was a part of Sarclash, and the ice-green crest of gigantic Adage itself, which he could only take in by throwing his head right back.

He gazed at everything in weary apathy, like a lost soul.  All his desires were gone forever; he wished to go nowhere, and to do nothing.  He thought he would go to Barey.

He went to the warm pool, to wash the sleep out of his eyes.  Sitting beside it, watching the bubbles, was Krag.

Maskull thought that he was dreaming.  The man was clothed in a skin shirt and breeches.  His face was stem, yellow, and ugly.  He eyed Maskull without smiling or getting up.

“Where in the devil’s name have you come from, Krag?”

“The great point is, I am here.”

“Where’s Nightspore?”

“Not far away.”

“It seems a hundred years since I saw you.  Why did you two leave me in such a damnable fashion?”

“You were strong enough to get through alone.”

“So it turned out, but how were you to know? ....  Anyway, you’ve timed it well.  It seems I am to die today.”

Krag scowled.  “You will die this morning.”

“If I am to, I shall.  But where have you heard it from?”

“You are ripe for it.  You have run through the gamut.  What else is there to live for?”

“Nothing,” said Maskull, uttering a short laugh.  “I am quite ready.  I have failed in everything.  I only wondered how you knew....  So now you’ve come to rejoin me.  Where are we going?”

“Through Barey.”

“And what about Nightspore?”

Krag jumped to his feet with clumsy agility.  “We won’t wait for him.  He’ll be there as soon as we shall.”

“Where?”

“At our destination....  Come!  The sun’s rising.”

As they started clambering down the pass side by side, Branchspell, huge and white, leaped fiercely into the sky.  All the delicacy of the dawn vanished, and another vulgar day began.  They passed some trees and plants, the leaves of which were all curled up, as if in sleep.

Maskull pointed them out to his companion.

“How is it the sunshine doesn’t open them?”

“Branchspell is a second night to them.  Their day is Alppain.”

“How long will it be before that sun rises?”

“Some time yet.”

“Shall I live to see it, do you think?”

“Do you want to?”

“At one time I did, but now I’m indifferent.”

“Keep in that humour, and you’ll do well.  Once for all, there’s nothing worth seeing on Tormance.”

After a few minutes Maskull said, “Why did we come here, then?”