"Avocado," he said. "This was once a grove."
The normal fear of the unfamiliar swept over Theta. "I want to get out of here. It scares me," she quavered.
Henry glanced up at the sun. "Too late to cross over now," he said. "We'll find a house."
He turned and looked about. There should be one close, on the slope of the ridge so as not to take up useable land. He sighted one and made for it. From the outside it looked no different from those in their own valley.
Beside it was an old apple tree with some emaciated fruit on it. At least they wouldn't starve. As the house was obviously empty he went around to the back, got a picking ladder off the rack and plucked enough fruit to fill their pouches, although it was unflavorable. Not until then did they venture to the front door and push it open.
As far as they could see it was like the houses in their valley, only it was cold, with a chill dampness. Light gray dust covered everything; cobwebs festooned the walls. That it had not been lived in for years, perhaps generations, was evident. Theta clung to his arm, shivering and afraid. Henry shook her off. He strode to the kitchen and pulled open a bin. In the bottom was dust, smelling faintly of peaches.
"We'll clean out a bedroom for the night," he said, re-entering the living room.
In the bedroom the westerly sun poured light through a dust-covered window, putting the bed somewhat in shadow. It, too, was covered with dust, turning the everlasting blankets into a color uniform with the room. Their movements stirred up dust that danced as motes in the streaming sunlight as if to bar their way across the room. They walked into it. Their eyes could now see clearly what was beyond.
Theta screamed and sprang back.