~ Truth Digilan There were terrible sounds in the cloying white, slobbering, tearing sounds, and Tianoman was afraid. He hauled on the rope until he had the comforting presence of Torrullin under his hands. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder and held on. They could not see each other. Torrullin wrapped fingers around Tianoman’s wrist and started walking. To Tianoman it seemed they walked in a weaving pattern, although he could not be sure. He concentrated on holding onto the rope with one hand, Torrullin’s fingers around his other, and blocked out the terrible sounds. Was it minutes or hours before the mist thinned? He would never know. He only knew relief was tangible. The thinning mist gave way to grey light and they stepped out into a hole in the heavens, or thus it seemed. They stood upon muddy ground, treeless and stinking, and a leaden sky was a perfect circle in the encircling mist. There was no sunlight; this was the natural state of Digilan. A white palace sat on a rise in the centre of this circular reclamation, sprawling and impossibly high.
