“It seemed to take over the sky with a deep yellow glow of a hue which seemed to race out in all directions and flake golden light on countless orchestral legions of the dark symphony that was the evening countryside. The mist began to thicken and swallow that beguiling clip-clopping of Nigel's Hooves. He was sensing something near. Something watching them from the wildness that flanked the path.... and the coachman felt a little envious of those blinders which book-ended Nigel's vision.”
And the sound came again. "Steady Boy", uttered the Little Coachman. "Nothing to worry about. They sound several hills further away than they did at the first howling." And a nervous laugh followed. But then the laugh seemed to vanish within the enveloping mists and faraway wind. The little Coachman gave a slight tug of the rains until against his better bred instincts, Nigel slowed the coach. Where indeed was this old road going to lead them?
The Little Coachman had forgotten what would be in the night sky that evening. And now amidst the winds, smoky blue mists, slowing hooves, the howls, the crunching of the wheels upon the gravel, he was remembered and gently began to remove his hat at the sight of the great rising orange that loomed above him. And then the Little Coachman and his Steed heard the strangest thing. It was not unlike the sound of a woman's whisper. It came from just ahead... and off the road. This mysterious voice- it had a strange accent he couldn't quite place. It was difficult to make out what she was saying. It sounded most like,
"Just a little closer now..."