Chapter Four: Wrong Timing

At first, the shock stupefied him. It was as if he had been hurled from a comfy dream into an awakening so terrible that both his mind and his body rejected it. In the crazy half-world of whirling, incoherent thought that followed, he almost managed to persuade himself that it was some joke kind of nightmare - until his returning wits, and the cold touch of the scaly body against his knees, forced him to accept the horrifying reality. Then, like a man coming round from an anaesthetic, he tried desperately to pull himsele together, to adjust to the reality, to cut it down to size. To think.
He tried to hazard a guess at how long he had been lying there: was it minutes or hours? He decided at last that it was probably about half an hour. They had turned in at ten o'clock, and now it must be at least half-past ten. That meant another seven or eight hours before sun-up. Could he keep still that long?

Author's Note

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