You watch as time ticks slowly by – painfully the color drains from the little boy’s face.

“No time to waste,” you think. Ahead you look and wonder what is beyond. Down you look and realize what must be done.

“I will not pass by where I can help,” you think, lowering beside the hole, “This bridge is broken,” you glance up, eyes lighting on one of the glowing strands, “And I’m going to help build it.”

Swinging your legs over the edge, you plunge into the hole.

It is cold – so cold you cannot move, nor can you think. Down you plummet, speed ever-increasing in the chilling vacuum. It is like falling through a fog made of ice – or as if radioactive rays could be bullets of searing chill. The ice permeates you, stilling your heart, breath and mind. You can’t even think to gasp for air. It is so cold . . . too cold . . . you wonder if this is what death feels like.

But the cold could never last forever. No, warmth does not sweetly blossom to steal your chill away. Like the rain of a hundred tiny arrows, both within and without, a sudden heat strikes you, knocking all the remaining breath from your lungs.

It sears and burns and all you want is to get out of it. The heat wraps you round and, somehow, you understand that though it pains, it wants – if heat can want - to help you. You relax, trying to think through the blinding pain.

Light slowly grows from the heated darkness, revealing a little of yourself and the darts. They are like flashes of the light, but somehow darker than it.

“Light? Dark?” you think, mentally shaking your head at the absurdity of it. As if they understand your scorn, the darts strike harder and deeper. You gasp, looking down at yourself.

You are still gray, though the light about you blooms orange and tinged with red and gold. Then you see: every place the darts are striking takes on a little color. Are they infusing you with life? Turning your consciousness into a being?

“It is a strange way to translate from one world to another,” you think dreamily. The darts begin growing less painful, fading away into a sweet oblivion. Once more, you feel cold, and as the darkness engulfs your mind, you wonder when you will stop falling . . .

You must have been asleep, you think, as a blue light shines through your eyelids and into your mind. Upon the canvas of your thought the light shifts and forms shadows. A tree, a mountain, and a stallion. What are they? A man, a boy, and a knife. Wait, where did that last one come from? You struggle against the darkness in your own mind. There’s something here . . . but you can’t grasp it. You’ve seen those images before . . .

“Gotta wake up,” you think, and then that is all you can think. You need to wake up now. You need to wake up now. You need to wake up NOW.

You open your eyes and see nothing but a blinding golden light. It is so bright – you are surprised it does not sting and burn. A moment later, something soft brushes against your cheek and whispers, like a melody, in your ear. You shift, turn, and look.

Grass – long golden grass all veined with pale green and brown. The touch is a breeze and the tune it’s song. The air is sweet and heavy with the smell of rain and pine-trees. You breathe in, relishing the prickly scents. You shift, feeling the gentle hilliness of the ground beneath you. You laugh – it is good to be alive again!

Rolling over, you struggle to your feet, at first staggering a little as the blood rushes downward and into your legs. Soon, however, your head clears, and you view a broad landscape spreading from beneath your feet.

You stand, as it seems, near the crest of hill whose sides are cloaked in the long, golden grass. Here and there, a small tree flows upward from the billowing grass, ascending like the tips of towers through a sea of golden cloud. The sky is bluer than you have ever seen – but no so much as to shock the eyes. It doesn’t look more blue, so much as the blue in it looks more. As if it were made of something solid and liquid all at once. The sun is bright, but you can look straight into it. Warm is the air and soft its breeze as a gentle wind blows through the leaves. Everything is so beautiful.

Warmer the breeze blows suddenly around you, and on it, you sense the flavor of rain. Looking further than the rolling plain, you see hills in the distance. Maybe there are people further on? Then again . . . you turn, and look behind you.

A forest. It must be leagues and leagues away, but appears close enough to touch. And behind the rising ranks of green-clad lords, mountains rear their proud heads into the clouds. Glancing up, you shiver just to see the patches of brilliant white near their tips.

As you stand, gazing at the scene behind you, you espy beyond the mountains a mass of dark clouds.

“Hello,” you think, “So that’s where you’re coming from.”

A bird appears against the mountain backdrop, wheeling and soaring on a strong updraft. If I can see it from here – you reason – it must be a great bird.

Where to next? The rolling hills or the mountains? You can see no signs of people in either direction, but maybe that is just your point of view. To your right and towards the mountains, a larger hill rises. If you just crest that, you may be able to see far enough and decide which is the best direction to take . . .

Running swiftly down the hill, you end up rolling to the bottom. A little too steep for speed, you think, rubbing a sore elbow and flexing a bruised knee with a grimace. Ahead, the hill looms like a small, golden mountain against the sky.

And you climb. It is a long way up, and more winding than you had at first assumed. Cresting the final rolling hump of land, you see below a single hut. Smoke rises, curling in the breeze and sending a faint scent of something delicious up towards you. Your stomach growls and, unconsciously, you lick your lips, stepping forward.

A loud bay shatters the sweet stillness as something strikes you full in the chest, knocking you down in a whoosh of air. You blink, and find yourself staring straight into the teeth of a very angry dog. Time seems to stop as you wonder, sadly, whether your adventure will end here.

“Wait, what was the adventure about?” you think, suddenly afraid you have forgotten something very important.

“Elkor, down!” a voice shouts. Instantly, you are relieved of both lung-crushing burden and knock-out doggy breath. Gasping, you struggle to your knees.

“Forgive me, sir, and my dog - we are not used to strangers,” the voice says again, this time nearer. You look up, your eyes meeting the gaze of a young boy.

“A boy. A boy. A boy. A boy,” your thoughts echo as the shadows reappear in your mind, “A boy. A boy. The boy! The BOY!”

You gasp, starting to you feet, hands instantly flying up to burrow in your thick hair.

“Where is he?” you mutter, casting about for the boy. The boy from the shadow-mirror – the boy you came to save!

“Sir?” the child says, “Are you looking for someone?”

You turn back, really looking at him for the first time. Appearing to be around eleven years old, he is strongly built with a shock of glossy black hair, firm jaw and brilliant green eyes.

“Like a cat,” you muse, then remember he just asked you a question.

“Yes, I . . . um, well, he . . .” and your voice trails off. How do you describe him to this boy? How do ask you for help? “I’m looking for a boy, younger than you, whose hurt bad. Dirty blond hair and, no, I don’t know his name. No, I don’t know his location, or the color of eyes, or who his parents, village, clan . . .”

Impossible.

But you need to find him! Glancing over the boy’s head, you gaze into the further, mountainous distance. You need to find him – but how?

[here the manuscript ends]