"A queer sort of skull," Shann said. Just as vividly as when he had first awakened, he could picture that skull mountain with the flying things about its eye sockets. And that, too, was odd; dream impressions usually faded with the passing of waking hours. "It has a protruding lower jaw and the waves wash that ... red-and-purple rock——"
"What?"
He had Thorvald's complete attention now.
"Where did you hear about it?" That demand followed quickly.
"I didn't hear about it. I dreamed of it last night. I stood there right in front of it. There were birds—or things flying like birds—going in and out of the eyeholes——"
"What else?" Thorvald leaned across his pole, his eyes alive, avid, as if he would pull the reply he wanted out of Shann by force.
"That was all I remember—the skull mountain." He did not add his other impression, that he was meant to find that skull, that he must find it.
"Nothing...." Thorvald paused, and then spoke slowly, with a visible reluctance. "Nothing else? No cavern with a green veil—a wide green veil—strung across it?"
Shann shook his head. "Just the skull mountain."
Thorvald looked as if he didn't quite believe that, but Shann's expression must have been convincing, for he laughed shortly.