Late afternoon had been hazy, with the sun going down an ominous ball of red. Now as the night wore on, Hal swept into heavy weather. Mist changed into a dense, clinging fog. The wind rolled up into a gale that seemed to strike from all sides at once. For safety's sake, Hal rode high, at something like ten thousand feet. He had the feeling of a lone human survivor drifting above a fog-shrouded world. He must have passed over hamlets and cities innumerable, yet no glow of home or street lights penetrated upward through the fog blanket to point him a guiding beacon.