Maybe he stood there still, but not quite long enough. Maybe he started, but his magic was hidden, even to himself. Everything moved. He looked to see that he had remained still, and he smiled inwardly and whispered, “I am proud.” But everything was moving and he began to fear. For though he had remained still, he know that soon, he too should have to move.
“But not now,” he thought, “and tomorrow is just a day, as any other.” But he was no longer sure. And again, as in times nearly forgotten, he began to think and to fear. Tomorrow loomed closer, and yesterday melted into folly. Holes arose. Holes in everything, and the sun started to dissolve.
“I am strong,” he chanted to ward off the darkness, “I am candle. I am light.” He shone dimly. All things were moving shadows and he was no longer sure. “I am not separate,” he cried as the holes began to attacj his light, began to attack his soul. Through clouds of smoke, rolling thunder shattered holes into everything.
Across a field, the sight of trees and white crosses sheltered the elusive horizon. He jumped, climbed the trees, and stepped on hills to see the other side. He ate his meals dreaming, “an apple as the world, yet I can never see the other side.” And dreams of unspeakable darkness came into his mind. “I have been knighted, and I now carry my device on my banner — I am me, and that is all I need.” The words echoed in his mind, yet ever the fear of that horizon, and who waited on the other side – always these fears tainted his brightly polished shield and tore at his fluttering banner.
A few of them remained – yet did not remain unscarred by the passage of those who had gone.