these things he would clutch and hold, let the Pursuing Spirits do what they would.
As he entered the dark wood a few flakes of snow were falling.

He knew where the Druid Stones lay.

He had once been shown them by some undergraduate interested in such things.

They lay a little to the right, below the little crooked path and above the Hollow.
The wood was not dripping now--held in the iron hand of the frost the very leaves on the ground seemed to be made of metal; the bare twisted branches of the trees shone with frosty--the earth crackled beneath his foot and in the wood's silence, when he broke a twig with his boot the sound shot into the air and rang against the listening stillness.
He looked at the Hollow, Bunker close at his heels.

He could see the spot where he had first stood, talking to Carfax--there where the ferns now glistened with silver.