There’s no way to stop myself until the time freeze is over, so I just go with the roll. For the next three seconds, my mind conjures up images of all sorts of nasty obstacles that I’m about to crash into, including sharp-edged boulders and thick tree trunks. Luckily, the slope eases off around the same time that my time freeze thaws. It’s a good thing too, because only a few feet from where I finally come to a stop, the slope changes from gentle and soft to steep and rocky. As I stand up and brush myself off, I make a mental note never again to program my patch when I’m time fogged. Luckily, I wasn’t far off. I’d actually planned to land on the hill—but on the crest, not the side. Even though I’m not at the top, I still have an excellent view. A few hundred feet below is a village partly shrouded in fog. I see about thirty thatched huts, but there might be more hiding under the mist. That must be the village of Jngdézhèn. But what really gets my attention are a dozen or so egg-shaped structures scattered on the surrounding hillsides.
