Jefferson Marlowe took a swig of papaya juice. It had been a long trek back to Batahausen - he was hot, sticky and in need of a sit down.
The view from the top of Mount Devesham was really quite something: fields stretching back as far as he could see, out across the valley and up the other side.
But there was one in particular which really caught his eye, standing out against the green and brown. At first it looked as if it was covered with snow, but, as Jefferson scrambled down the mountain, he realised that the field was, in fact, full of dandelions, the heads of every flower blurring into one, stitched together like a thick silver sheet.
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As Jefferson sat down, he felt the dandelions on his bare knees, flicking idly against his canvas shorts. This was the perfect place for a bit of kip, he thought, as he lay back.
He pulled out a flower and blew on it carelessly.
As he did so, a tuft of silver particles flew away, the Sun disappeared behind a cloud and the sky got suddenly darker.
Jefferson shivered.
Before he'd had the time to question himself, he'd blown away another clump.
The night got darker still. He wrapped his arms about his chest and looked up at the sky. The moons were quite visible now, Juliet and Portia, two crescents in the gloam, and the stars were piercing into sight.
He looked at the flower, a few dusty fruits still clinging to its stalk. He brushed them away and the darkness completed its descent.
Jefferson remembered everything at last. The world was coming to an end and it was all his fault. The hoot af an owl signalled that the time had come: Jagalath had awoken and was ready to emerge.
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