What were those things, circling nearer, lower, slower?
“It is the people at last! Thank God!” cried Father Renaudin.
“It is the people!” hissed Regan. “Monsters with wings!” Then I heard him whisper: “But if there were a God he would do this! He would not people every world the same!”
I was glad that his subjects had wings, those great, strong wings! Magnificent attributes!
They came down and stood beside us, their wings hanging like folded cloaks, mottled and splotched with red, orange and silver. They looked like ambassadors in ’broidered mantles.
“If we could speak to them!” said Regan.
“We can understand all that you say!” they answered.
It was useless to try to find out where and of whom they had learned our language. They only could tell us that they had been taught from the Sun Island, a far-off land of the sea. Sometimes, they said, the tide was low and we could walk on dry rocks to the isle. Sometimes there was a “wall in the air.” Then no one could get there.
Who is there? What is there? There was no answer. We could think of no way of accounting for this; we determined to visit the place at once, but other cares prevented us.
Another strange thing occurred.