In a world the colour of moonstone, anything might lurk. There was light, and plenty of it, but it was the milky whiteness of a blinded eye. He could see nothing. The mist lay low over the mere, silencing everything.
Fir-tops were outlined in softest grey, high up behind him. There were grasses and reeds at his feet. That was all he could see of his surroundings, and he had no plans to move.
Reluctant even to breathe the murk, Turlach stood entirely still. The sheer effort of that and the grating of his nerves made his heart hammer, and he was forced to