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No one has crossed through the mountains,
for twelve leagues it is darkness throughout--
dense is the darkness, and light there is none."Nothing," he says. (Lie.)

When the shivering is under control again, and he looks up, Crowley lets out a quiet moan of fear.

"The afterglow from the fire - I couldn't see it." (Truth.)

He can't see.

It's been months since he was out over the ocean, black sky above and black sea below.

(This is not true; there is simply nothing left, in the vast and empty black, to look at.)

And the fire, though small, is, is very bright. He couldn't see -

Nothing to see; nothing to hear, either. It's all swallowed up by the dark, like being cast into
some great, formless void, endless, unchanging.

And for a moment -

Crowley's alone.

He shuffles closer to the fire, scuffing through the dust.

The ground might as well be slicked over with ice, it's so cold.

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