“Where are you going now?”
“How should we know? No matter where. There are many forests.”
The Dead Pool
By M. Beza
We seemed to be between Mount Gramos and Mount Deniscu. I guessed it to be so from the peaks, which showed like some fancies of the night, keeping steadfast watch in the moonlight; the moon we could not see, we could only feel her floating over us. The pale light shone only in the ether above, and gradually diminished till it was lost to the eyes in a mass of shadows; they fell like curtains, enveloping us, dense, black. The silence extended indefinitely; it was as though the world here had remained unchanged since its creation. Hardly a breath of wind reached us. It always carried with it at this spot the same odour of dank weeds, of plants with poisonous juices; everything told of the neighbourhood of water—not fresh water, but water asleep for centuries.
“Can you see the pool?” questioned my companion, Ghicu Sina; and then he added: “It is hidden, certainly, but look with attention.”
I looked, and after a time, getting accustomed to the darkness, I, too, got the impression of something shining and smooth.
“The pool——”
“Only the pool? Some lights too?”