ty, ty of t t afternoon  to itself; perfect transparency must be impenetrable, tical bars of a brass-coloured distillation of ligerstices in a sky  bulge  struck tine-stained fingers, ttered. A cold day of late October,  acorn cups underfoot in t slime of dead bracken ing cold of ter t grips  tigark elders  mucumn o make you smile but it is not yet, not quite yet, t time of ting sense of t cessation of being; turning, turns in on itself. Introspective her, a sickroom hush.

    tep betrees and ted to its original privacy. Once you are inside it, you must stay til it lets you out again for to guide you t safety; grass grerack years ago and nos and tle labyrintrees stir affeta skirts of  round . tumbling croig in tted s, notle stream  margins of mars it ime of t, blackiser to ice. All ill, all lapse.

    A young girl o trustingly as Red Riding o  t admits no ambiguities and, rapped in ly as it seems.

    tem of Co anotimate perspectives of terloper, traveller oed distance t perpetually receded before me. It is easy to lose yourself in these woods.

    tes of till air, as if my girliso a sound. ttle tangled mist in ts, mimicking tufts of old mans beard t flossed trees and bused fruit  treats. One by one, to trees ts cradle of ripped branc I felt I  al tle around me, I t t nobody  me.

    Erl-King will do you grievous harm.

    Piercingly, noe as if it came from t of t bird left alive. t call, ,  directly to my .

    I il its perspectives converged upon a