& the Demon of Time stalked the young man heading for home where greener pastures awaited, of that he was sure.

Along the winding promenade by the cracked grey Vanishing Lake.

Through the silent Forest of Old, where smouldering pines coughed and snored.

Above the tickling trickling streams of silver where gold was found and the rich got richer.

& the Demon of Time stalked the young man who never knew the dangers — of not looking back.