—Dante, Purgatorio, Canto xvii:115-120 Abdiel got as close to the Southern Hold as he could. “This is probably stupid,” he told himself. “There isn’t anything I can learn here, and eventually someone will see me.” He shook his head. “What did I come here for, anyway? I should be on my way home by now.” Some feeling, after he’d finished with the page, had told him that he should see the Southern Hold. He could think of no reason for it, but his instincts had been good in the past. He had gone slowly, recovering from the exhaustion that he’d felt after his efforts with Gabriel. His strength had returned now. He made note of how long it took, munching blueberries picked from bushes near the side of the road, occasionally wiping purple juice from his lips and beard with a white linen handkerchief. He wondered what he was waiting for, and whether he would recognize it if it came, and how long he would wait before giving up and heading back. Periodically, there would be travelers to or from the Hold, and he would strain to make out what they said.
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