Chapter 19
The Hollow Fen
Light is a wonderful thing. It distinguishes night from day. It grows flowers and plants and trees. It reveals what is hidden. It brings things alive, and it gives hope. Light is safe.
But fog, fog does a funny thing to light.
Fog isn’t as bold as dark thunderheads of a stormy sky. It isn’t as impenetrably gloomy as a deep cave. It isn’t as obscure as the floor of the ocean, and it isn’t as thorough as nightfall. Fog isn’t even as shadowy as a shadow.
Fog is dull. It is dreary. It is drab. It is somehow like turning on a light while the room remains doggedly dark—a false hope of being able to see when, in fact, almost everything is just beyond view. Everything is vanishing. Inside a fog’s ghostlike paleness, light is broken. Inside a fog, light reveals very l
