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Show 47 The angel had gone on to a different topic by the time Lorin had formulated the approach to his explanation, and he was concerned for a moment that he might forget exactly how he had been going to put it when they came back to it. It was possible, of course, that the offense was small enough that a simple warning would do for now-he hadn't actually gotten all that much-and they could move on to something more important with the understanding that it wouldn't happen again. He frowned and nodded as the angel went on, talking about things buried in a hill, and noticed for the first time that his own hands were a sickly white and the hairs on the back of them stood upright. He unclasped them and wiped his palms on the quilt. Without looking he touched the back of his left hand with the palm of his right hand and pressed the hairs down and felt them rise again when he lifted his right hand slowly. The angel had passed on to hypothetical threats, and Lorin was relieved to hear that they had to do with inscribed tablets in the ground. Beneath the sound of the voice, which had remained acoustically remote but to which he had gradually adapted, Lorin was conscious of a pale green haze shimmering against some inner screen, gradually hardening into a low grassy hill studded with boulders. He recognized it as a corner of pasture-land near the woods where he had had his vision, a place whose terrain was wrinkled and where cows occasionally wandered and broke their legs and had to be shot. He saw the scars of picnic fires and the lines of trees near the summit, and the grey outcropping of rock that marked where the hillside fell away and where his steps would have to be nimble to keep from losing his purchase as he climbed down. Splotches of bright orange and yellow marked the places where the thin soil had nutrients enough to grow wildflowers. He knew he could climb down and back up if he had to. The angel was explaining about the stones and the breastplate, but the light in the room, Lorin |