Crickets pulsed their steady rhythm through the night, and, beyond them, owls hooted like distant monks calling prayers; frogs drummed low notes in hidden puddles, and somewhere a lonely nightjar gave its eerie whistle. These voices of the dark wove a strange choir, part lullaby, part warning.
Then, right at the heart of all those living orchestra, came a different noise; a sharp pop, like a bubble bursting under water. It stuttered once, twice, and then, like a glitch in a screen, a blur unfolded and spilled lilac light across the trees. Dry leaves stirred as though gossiping about the intruder.
The blur rose taller, lengthening, and gradually shaped itself into a man leading a horse with a heavy package on its back. The light around them dimmed, as though the woods were swallowing it, and then both figures stood there fully formed, breathing and real.
