19 UPON THE FIELD OF BATTLE
We three are walking down a long wormhole of fog with our wolf friend Lobo. It seems that we have been walking for days, for the place that we seek is at the edge of the membranes of world-lines in which Man and his ilk can be found, far from the places that we call the worlds of Man. There is a sensation that draws us to the battlefield, like the magnetite that draws birds on their migratory paths. For the past few hours, we have not dismissed the obscuring walls, since that last viewing of a scene beyond the walls that was too alien to assimilate.
Now we no longer are walking, We can tell that we are moving at great speed along our destined path, for a sensation of great acceleration speaks to us of high speeds. Perhaps the Gods or Powers grow impatient with
