Мор - ученик смерти

           InthedistancehecouldseethelightsofStoHelit,whichreallywasn’tmuchmorethanasmalltown,andafaintglowontheedgeofsightmustbeStoLat.Helookedatitlongingly.

           Thebarrierworriedhim.Hecouldseeitcreepingacrossthefieldbehindthetrees.

           MortwasonthepointofurgingBinkybackintotheairwhenhesawthelightimmediatelyaheadofhim,warmandbeckoning.Itwasspillingfromthewindowsofalargebuildingsetbackfromtheroad.Itwasprobablyacheerfulsortoflightinanycase,butinthesesurroundingsandcomparedwithMort’smooditwaspositivelyecstatic.

           Asherodenearerhesawshadowsmovingagainstit,andmadeoutafewsnatchesofsong.Itwasaninn,andinsidetherewerepeoplehavingagoodtime,orwhatpassedforagoodtimeifyouwereapeasantwhospentmostofyourtimecloselyconcernedwithcabbages.Comparedtobrassicas,practicallyanythingisfun.

           Therewerehumanbeingsinthere,doinguncomplicatedhumanthingslikegettingdrunkandforgettingthewordsofsongs.

           Morthadneverreallyfelthomesick,possiblybecausehismindhadbeentoooccupiedwithotherthings.Buthefeltitnowforthefirsttime–asortoflonging,notforaplace,butforastateofmind,forbeingjustanordinaryhumanbeingwithstraightforwardthingstoworryabout,likemoneyandsicknessandotherpeople....

           ’Ishallhaveadrink,’hethought,’andperhapsIshallfeelbetter.’