The valley filled with a palely shimmering radiance which dropped like veils upon it, hiding all within it. Hiding within fold upon luminous fold — Norhala!
Chapter VII The Shapes in the Mist
Mutely we faced each other, white and wan in the ghostly light.
The valley was very still; as silent as though sound had been withdrawn from it. The shimmering radiance suffusing David Desharnais Tröjor it had thickened perceptibly; hovered over the valley floor faintly sparkling mists; hid Liverpool Dres Dámské it.
Like a shroud was that silence. Beneath it my mind struggled, its unease, its forebodings growing ever stronger. Silently we repacked the saddlebags; girthed the pony; silently we waited for Norhala’s return.
Idly I had noted that the place on which we stood must be raised above the level of the vale. Up toward us the gathering mists had been steadily rising; still was their wavering crest a half POLO Barcelone score feet below us.
Abruptly out of their dim nebulosity a faintly phosphorescent square broke. It lifted, slowly; then swept, a dully lustrous six-foot cube, up the slope and came to rest almost at our feet. It dwelt there; contemplated us from its myriads of deep-set, sparkling striations.
In its wake swam, one by one, six others — their tops raising from the vapors like the first, watchfully; like shimmering backs of sea monsters; like turrets of fantastic angled submarines from phosphorescent seas. One by one they skimmed swiftly over the ledge; and one by one they nestled, edge to edge and alternately, against the cube which had gone before.
In a crescent, they stretched before us. Back from them, a BV 09 Borussia Dortmund pace, ten paces, twenty, we retreated.
They lay immobile — staring at us.
Cleaving the mists, silk New England Revolution Dresy of copper hair streaming wide, unearthly eyes lambent, floated up behind them — Norhala. For an instant she was hidden behind their bulk; suddenly was upon them; drifted over Montreal Impact Dresy them like some spirit of light; stood before us.
Her veils were again about her; golden girdle, sandals of gold and turquoise in their places. Pearl white her body gleamed; no mark of lightning marred it.
She walked toward us, turned and faced the watching cubes. She uttered no sound, but as at Sporting Kansas a signal the central cube slid forward, halted before her. She rested a hand upon its edge.
“Ride with me,” she said to Ruth.
“Norhala.” Ventnor took a step forward. “Norhala, we must go with her. And this”— he pointed to the pony — “must Boca Juniors Dresy go with us.”
“I meant — Real Madrid Fotbalové Dres you — to come,” the faraway voice chimed, “but I had not thought of — that.”
A Mike Gartner Tröja moment she considered; then turned Maillot Koke to the six waiting cubes. Again as at a command four of the things moved, swirled in toward each Kurtki Barbour other with a weird precision, with a monstrous martial mimicry; joined; stood before us, a platform twelve feet square, six high.
“Mount,” sighed Norhala.
Ventnor looked helplessly at the sheer front facing him.
“Mount.” There was half-wondering impatience in her command. “See!”
She caught Ruth by the waist and with the same bewildelinks:
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