As they finally struck level ground and began making their way north, there was a chill foretaste of winter in the air; the lowering sun hung pale with a silver cast; thin ribbons of cloud on the horizon lent to the skies the promise of a cold, grey winter sunset.
On the morning of the fifth day following, the oppressive grey skies suddenly broke, and the sun shone clear and yellow in a robin's-egg-blue sky like glory itself. The air was tinged with a feeling of elation; in response, the soldiers and their mounts lifted their heads as though a yoke had been removed. Baldric wondered at this, for it seemed to him that the oppressive will that seemed to clench the north country had been suddenly banished. He imagined that he saw a black hand
withdraw itself, even as the skies cleared.
In response, he began sending his advance scouts further afield as they drew closer to the enemy. "Where are they?" he said to no one.
Four days later and they were drawing close to the outskirts of Morlock's demesne. Baldric was beginning to become worried. His scouts had reported nothing yet of the enemy. Instinctively, he slowed their approach. In another day, they would be at the gates of Morlock's castle itself.
Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Baldric sensed that he was dreaming, but he dreamt, too, that what he was experiencing was real, at least on some level, and accepted that. He sensed, too, the presence of his enemy, Morlock!