Bryan Stone stood outside the stark grey walls of Kraylle’s Castle, looking across the flat expanse of rock that stretched as far as the ever-present moons allowed him to see. His clothes were brand new, black and warm; but even the black, ankle-length fur coat Kraylle had given him, couldn’t stop the bitterly cold wind from finding gaps and openings; its icy breath reminded Bryan Stone that he was alive. He hadn’t given up his boots; they, together with thick woollen socks, kept his feet snug and warm. He wore no head covering and when he turned his face to the unfamiliar skies above, the wind snapped at it with frigid breath, but not a grain of sand or stone. All of those had been swept away aeons ago. He shouted into space and his voice was carried away so fast, it might never have been. For the first time in years, he felt happiness, at home; and when he walked back to the castle, the massive figure of Kraylle stood watching from its arched entrance.
