"Great! You've got it! Farewell, and a safe journey!"
Transitions? Shadow land? So that tomorrow will come? Has Zeus reached his dotage! Demo would ask more, except that he found himself suddenly alone. Alone, but where? Surely this was not his own world.
The gray fog swirled, settled, then swirled again. Dimly objects could be seen. And movement. They were there, or so it seemed. Yet, what objects? And what moved?
Silence accompanied the fog. Or, perhaps, preceded it.
Regardless, the only sound was his own breathing.
A light was approaching. Small, at first almost non-existent, it loomed larger, though no brighter. A silhouette, vague and distorted, carried the lantern. At times both disappeared as the fog thickened.
The approach stopped. Plainly they sensed his presence. The lantern was held higher, and he could catch glimpses of a woman's face. There was anxiety in her eyes, even fear, as she gazed at him.
"Sir, whence cometh thou? Thee be not of our world. Flee to thy home, for he walks the moors this night!"
"I . . . I am sent by Zeus. You say one walks this night? Who walks the moors this night? And why should I fear?"
"None is safe alone in the dark. If you have not where to go then come with me. Quickly, quickly!"
He followed her down dark alleys, twisting streets. The earth was wet, and muddy water flowed in rivulets crisscrossing their way. Varied smells, of vegetables, of cooked meats, and of decay, tinted the air. At times lights were visible through small barred windows along their way.