It seemed to him as though he were on some half-crumbled walkway down in the belly of the world. A gauntlet. On either side gargantuan creatures, almost but not quite motionless, stared down at him. Turning ever so slightly as he passed between them, their heads as big as houses, their bodies grey and dark, but for their eyes . . . like small burning moons, fixing on him. He saw them vividly in his brain, convincing himself he could see them by sight, too, though there was no sight to be had. They were after-images on his vision, as though those great ancient eyes had burned on him and then closed – yet only closed to his senses, for in truth they would not so much as blink. There was a bull, and a bison, their horns sprouting away from the heatless white glare of the eyes. A panther, a doyot, a dog with fangs the size of his body. Some monstrous reptilian thing standing tall. A taidan and a cinderwulf on opposite sides facing each other.

And a ghoum. A titan of one, some fell white god, as tall as the cavern but stooping so that its questing head neared his path. In absence of eyes it began to search with long fingered hands, lightly gripping the edges of the gauntlet, then probing, reaching for him. At any moment it would touch him, a foul fingertip like wet paper stroking the length of his body . . .