The valley swam in thick, transparent haze, golden at dawn, warm and white at noon, purple in the twilight.

At the end of every storm a rainbow curved down into the leaf-bright forest to shine and fade and leave lingeringly some faint essence of its rosy iris in the air.
Venters walked with Bess, once more in a dream, and watched the lights change on the walls, and faced the wind from out of the west.
Always it brought softly to him strange, sweet tidings of far-off things.

It blew from a place that was old and whispered of youth.

It blew down the grooves of time.

It brought a story of the passing hours.
It breathed low of fighting men and praying women.