He looked toward the comfortable houses settled in among the trees, the beautiful lights and demonstrated shadows, the fast, unsure lives, and he had an erupting of a wild, plunderous feeling. However the inclination didn’t remain, didn’t sustain, and when it had escaped, seeing the town appeared briefly as fantastic and difficult to decipher as triumphed ultimately that last passing look at Agenor’s being, dissolving against a vacant sky. The truck was swaying closer, shaking along. Beheim saw the screwy dark outline of the driver raised over the trudging heft of a surprisingly strong contender. “I don’t have the foggiest idea what any of it will resemble any longer,” Alexandra said. “I can’t envision the reason why it ought to appear as something else, however I… ” As she went to Beheim a flicker of mirrored light marked her left eye like a meteor crossing a minuscule sky. “I realize it will be.” The driver of the truck snorted an order to his pony and pulled up adjacent to them. He was an elderly person, more seasoned than Agenor and undeniably more delicate, with a cloth tied around his head, stifling his ears, and fingerless gloves, and a frayed woolen coat. “Would i be able to offer you a ride into town?” he inquired. “It’s an uneven fix ahead. Be hard strolling for the woman.” Beheim, hearing the fat beat of the driver’s heart, felt a twinge of repugnance, a craving to jump on board the truck and end his acrid little life. However, he just said, “Thank you, no.” Then, with a constrained grin, not having any desire to turn into a story told at a hotel about the hostile outsider and his tall, quiet lady, he added, “We’re going much farther than that, so we should become acclimated to strolling.” The driver sucked on a tooth, spat. “So are we as a whole,” he said with terrible elegance. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be a noble man and give the woman here somewhat of a rest.” He gave the reins a jerk, getting the pony going again into its trudging step. Alexandra chuckled. “Teaches you a lesson for attempting to be one of the farm raised people.” “I trust you’re greater at it than I,” he said. “Since shortly we will be plunking down to dinner with them.” “Goodness, I’ll be right at home.” She moved off far along the street. “I simply shows them a couple of extravagant advances, I murmurs in their ears, and next you know, they’re asking to be my hassock.” He chuckled, as well, following her. “I’ll bet they’re pointing somewhat higher than your feet for their award.” She claimed to point a slap at him. “You’ve a messy mouth for such a fine man of honor!” He got her arm, pulled her nearby, and for a couple of moments they went dancing along the street, prodding each other, their voices cheerful; however when they withdrew, their state of mind diminished. “It’s distinctive as of now,” she said as they remained with their arms around each other. “Maybe I’ve… ” She was by all accounts looking for the right words. “As though I’ve shed a skin. That is it, that is the thing that it resembles. It’s all so new. The scents, the tones. Everything. Maybe I’ve shed an old skin, and the new skin is more touchy, yet not as solid. Don’t you feel it? You should.” He told her indeed, he felt a lot of something very similar. Yet, that was clearly false to comfort her. All he really felt was the shortfall of an abusive weight, the opportunity of being his own lord again following two years of dreamlike subjugation. Changed as he was, new as he was, the world he saw before him was the well explored parts of the planet, the natural, a world he neither dreaded nor loathed, however one toward which he currently coordinated a practically innocent excitement and interest.