All that they did not dare to say aloud bulked
itself, huge and thunderous, before the combined consciousness which
makes a strange third companion in such dual silences. They dared
not pause, or look at each other, or move their strained lips for
fear truth, the desperate, treacherous truth, would leap out and link
them like a lightning-flash. The somber forest enveloped them. They
moved through it as through a deep wall that opened by enchantment.
The moon came up, gibbous and white and glittering, paler than silver;
and the forest became streaked and mottled with its light. A soft,
sudden wind tore the light and shade into eerie, dancing ribbons and
tatters and shreds. There were such sounds as are not heard in
daylight--moon sounds and cloud sounds and sounds of dark wind;
branches talked and other small voices answered in anxious undertones.
A moose rubbed his antlers and coughed. They heard his big body
hulking through a swamp down there in a well of darkness.
"I can't go so fast." Sylvie's shaken voice moved doubtfully. "I'm
tired."
She pulled at his arm and stopped. The whole forest seemed to sway
and stir and urge them to haste and secrecy.
"A storm's coming," Pete answered.
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