Wonderland, Scene V (Daphne, Erin, Underwood)
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'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There
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April, all anyone could say for certain.
The night passed uneventfully, and in something rather resembling comfort, given the presence of Marie Tempest and Harvey. The Maestro disappeared for what seemed to be quite nearly thirty seconds, only to return with a very large number of huge, squishy lavender sleeping bags. These were provided to anyone who wanted them. Cinder took one look at them and politely declined, and instead spent the night turned into a large, russet-furred wolf, curled nose to tail.
Breakfast was cold left-overs and the miscellaneous oddments from Erin's handbasket, and then it was time to set out. This was initially difficult, given that you were in a featureless cavern with optional gravity and no way out, but then, this was the Hedge. And it was deep in the Hedge as well. So Black Huiarnviu played you a path.
The Púca took his lute of bone and wood and ice, and he strummed three notes upon it. At the first, the cavern shook. At the second, the air charged like lightning, and Erin's hair stood on end. At the third, nothing happened, but the Púca smiled, and strode to the nearest wall. He whispered something to it, and then pushed.
Where there had been nothing before, was now a door, out into the dim twilight of the Hedge. You stood on a broad, open path, laid with cobblestones that gleamed in the half-light with a coppery sheen. The road split, a dozen feet from the door, into two broad boulevards that continued out of sight. There were signs. Several, as a matter of fact.
To the right, from a hooked thorn, hung a sign that said Fortune. Beneath it was a smaller one that said, Fame. Hanging from the bottom of that sign was a third, barely more than a scrap of cloth. On it was written, with what smelled like a recent sharpie marker, Beetles.
To the left, on a stout, weathered post that looked like it had been there for forty years, in fire-charred letters, was written Othello.
"Well, that's been fun." The Maestro said -- shouted, to be precise -- and clapped Underwood on the back with a somewhat metallic ding. "Wish you luck. Don't forget to write." She picked up a large carpet bag and set out for the right-hand path.
"Excuse me." This was a voice that hadn't been doing very much talking. Namely, it was Isengrim. The big wolf-troll leaned against his trusty elephant gun, and there was something oily about his matter. "Excusing me be if I'm wrong, but would this be a High Road? Of the Arcadian variety?"
"...Arcadia..." Sasha said, and looked at Sergei, who looked rather sheepish just then.
