Arcadius tilted his head up. “And just look at that wonderful starry sky. It’s beautiful, don’t you think? Do you know your constellations, good man?”

“No, sir.”

“Pity.” He measured out some silver coins and handed them up to the driver. “It’s all up there, you know. Wars, heroes, beasts, and villains, the past and the future spread above us each night like a dazzling map.” He pointed. “That long, elegant set of four bright stars is Persephone, and she, of course, is always beside Novron. If you follow the line that looks like Novron’s arm, you can see how they just barely touch—lovers longing to be together.”

The driver looked up. “Just looks like a bunch of scattered dust to me.”

“It does to a great many people. Too many people.”

The driver looked down at him and frowned. “You sure you want me to just leave you? I can come back if you want.”

“That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

“Suit yourself. Good night.” The carriage driver slapped the reins and the coach rolled out, circled in a field, and returned the way it had come. The driver glanced up at the sky twice, shaking his head each time. The carriage and the team rode away, the horses’ clopping became softer and softer until it faded below the harsh shrill of nightly noises.

Arcadius stood alone, observing the world. It had been some time since the old professor had been out in the wild. He had forgotten how loud it was. The high-pitched trill of crickets punctuated the oscillating echoes of tree frogs, which peeped with the regular rhythm of a human heart. Winds rustled a million leaves, fashioning the voice of waves at sea.

Arcadius walked along the road, crossing the fresh grooves of the carriage wheels. His shoes on the dirt made a surprisingly large amount of noise. The dark had a way of drawing attention to the normally invisible, silent, and ignored. That was why nights were so frightening. Without the distraction of light, the doors to other senses were unlocked. To children, the dark spoke of the monster beneath the bed. To adults, it spoke of the intruder. To old men, it was the herald of death on its way.

“Long, hard, and rocky is the road we walk in old age,” he muttered to his feet.