Indomalion’s corona set the southern horizon ablaze in orange flames–sun-flares, Kevin wondered? Great tendrils of impossibly distant fire, raging above the gloaming gathering across the land, stroking the faraway horizon so distinctly that he imagined he must soon see an inferno racing through the Forest. An illusion, of course. But why did the flames burn downward? There was so much of Feynard he had never noticed. Kevin felt as though he were waking up from a decades-long sleep. “Garlion eats Indomalion,” said Zephyr, following the direction of Kevin’s gaze. “But we must look ahead, good outlander. “Here lies beautiful Shilliabär. Those were once the city gates, through which one would enter the city’s main avenue.” Turning at once, Kevin surveyed the damage. Time had wreaked its toll, reducing the walls in places to heaps of rubble and the gates to dust–all that remained of them were lumps of stone that must once have formed gatehouses.
