No one knew the actual height of the trees in the Dark Forest because of the clouds. Over the years, folk lore and tales had formed about their origin and formation. Mythical civilisations of evil gremlins were said to have built a city up in the trees and kept it shrouded from human eyes by the soupy canopy of clouds. The same lore explained why the entire forest teamed with hostile life; that which was the gremlin king's way of venting his anger on the world and on mankind. "We'll stay here today and sleep. Tomorrow, when fresh and strong, we'll go down there and carry ourselves across to the other side." Boyce bore a pensive smile to what Lloyd had said. "Lloyd?" he began. "Exactly how will we get down from here? Will we have to climb?" Lloyd grinned at Boyce. "It's easier climbing down!" he answered and watched Boyce's facial colour draw away. "Really! -- We will climb down part of the way." He got on his belly and leaned over to the edge of the cliff and motioned to Boyce to do the same, and he did. He pointed to a large ledge that was about the width of a forearm, which continued on to a piece of this big rock where there was a gentler slope and a path down to the base. Boyce shrugged and smacked his lips as he looked beyond the path and straight down to the base of the escarpment, strewn with rock and dotted with dry bush. "That's still a climb!" he said. "I would guess twenty meters! I like to think of it as a morning exercise." They rested on the summit through the rest of the day and talked about their past decade together, as friends, and they discussed the great city of Pomperaque and what it would be like when they finally reached it. Their second night came to them on the scarp, hardly different in its beauty than the night before. The only noticeable change was that of the full moon, which was big and bright. Each man was silent and rolled about in his own thoughts. Boyce laboured with the vision of Brook and Dearborne's executions, being played repeatedly in his mind while his uncle, Manguino, watched with murder-hungry eyes. He wiped the tears from his eyes and took the telescope that was beside Lloyd and put it up to his eye. He aimed the instrument at the moon and was amazed at the details that he saw on its surface. Lloyd had his eyes rivetted on the moon, as well. His mind played with him, showing him the memories of Mercedes' suicide mingled with that of his own beloved Charnan's death. His tears never formed, though. With his, at one time's ease to mourn, all he had now was the respectful love and praise for her. He never married since his betrothal to her, and rarely did he ever have relations with women. The only woman since Charnan, who interested Lloyd in the slightest, was his father's maid-servant, Torella. She drew and teased his desires from him, until with her scalding passion gave her body to him, before she left the Bartlett household with a wandering artisan.