He and Lys hurried out onto the veranda and down the steps. And then they stopped, appalled.
The great forest that loomed before them was now a nightmare sight. It seethed and stirred with unearthly life great branches clawing and whipping at each other as they fought for the light, vines writhing through them at incredible speed, a rustling uproar of tossing, living plant-life.
Lys shrank back. “The forest is alive now!”
“It’s just the same as always,” Farris reassured. “It’s we who have changed — who are living so slowly now that the plants seem to live faster.”
“And Andre is out in that!” Lys shuddered. Then courage came back into her pale face. “But I’m not afraid.”
* * *
They started up through the forest toward the plateau of giant trees. And now there was an awful unreality about this incredible world.
Farris felt no difference in himself. There was no sensation of slowing down. His own motions and perceptions appeared normal. It was simply that all around him the vegetation had now a savage motility that was animal in its swiftness.
Grasses sprang up beneath his feet, tiny green spears climbing toward the light. Buds swelled, burst, spread their bright petals on the air, breathed out their fragrance — and died.
New leaves leaped joyously up from every twig, lived out their brief and vital moment, withered and fell. The forest was a constantly shifting kaleidoscope of colors, from pale green to yellowed brown, that rippled as the swift tides of growth and death washed over it.