“A hundred and forty years ago we were. Maybe they've changed.”

“Maybe have. “

They found the old road, running more or less south, and turned onto it thankfully. Easy walking, the open sky above, the sense that at last their destination was within reach, raised their spirits. They swung along at a good pace and Ruth found herself singing.

“So the Freedom Man danced out of the Ark,

And over the hills so shady,

Into the light and out of the dark,

To be with his red-haired lady.”

Karol whistled along with her. “Do you know it?” she asked in surprise.

“Not your words. But the melody is very old indeed. It's got many names: The Gypsy Love, The Whistling Irish Rover, and so on.”

“But it's mine. Out of my dreams. How could you know it. “

“It's a folk song, with the kind of catchy tune that gets remembered. And, I suppose, new words get put to it. Do you know other verses?

“Ruth sang all she could remember.

“Strange. I'd have guessed that it was a freedom song from the oppressed level of a class society.”

“But that's not possible. The Arks aren't like that.”

“No, of course not.”

They walked on in silence up a steeply winding section of the old road.

“But it is curious,” said Karol, a kilometre further on. They reached the crest of the ridge shortly after noon.

Someone, back in the Days of Oil, had widened the road at this point, and provided a kind of viewing platform with a waist high bannister. The stones had fallen and the concrete platform itself was fissured and overgrown with weeds. But it made a good resting place. They dropped their loads and stretched.

Covered with the inevitable pine, the mountain rose to a crest on their right. To the south-east, below the eroded edge of the platform, they could see the land fall dizzily away to a flood plain, wide and lushly green. Across it the river meandered in a wide lazy loop.

In every other direction were the mountains, round-topped, dark green, on and on as far as they could sec. Ruth leaned perilously over the edge and followed the course of the river. After it looped back to the west it was forced into the narrows between two mountains. She lost it at last in a shadowy gorge.

She strained her eyes. What was that? Just this side of the steepest, most shadowy part of the gorge, the white thread of river seemed to thicken into a knot. It had a shadow. It was rounded.

“Down there,” she yelled. “The Dome!”

The others crowded close. “Where?”

“Over there. See it?”

It can't be far. Let's go. We'll reach it before dark”

“A real meal.”

“And a hot shower.”

“Another Web!” They looked at each other, smiles spreading over tired faces.