In his descent there was no sense of easy motion as there had been before. Instead, he was falling rapidly, hurtling through the dark, a tangled mass of helpless arms and legs. His efforts to fight the force that was sucking him downward were useless. Then, sooner and more easily than he had expected, he came to rest. All at once there was a soft, cool surface beneath him that seemed to give with his weight, then lift him gently. But his relief was shattered by a sudden, terrifying blast from the ghostly horn. Instantly, light began to show through the blackness which was being ripped into fleeting whisps and fragments by a strong, angry wind. Oddly, though, the wind didn't seem to affect Marc; it was blowing all about him without stirring so much as a hair on his head. He sat up and gazed at the scene before him as the last remnants of the shredded blackness disappeared into the distance. At once, the wind died and everything became quiet. Marc was in the very center of a small grove of strange feathery trees that seemed to have deliberately arranged themselves into a perfect circle. A light blue mist lay motionless beneath the trees, blending softly into the green mossy carpet upon which he was resting. There was a cool restfulness about the place which he recognized at once. It was the feeling that always came to him when he entered the valley of his own mind. He threw his hands out behind him on the grass and leaned back luxuriously. He was just closing his eyes when a soft sound whispered against the grass behind him. He started to swing about, but he was too slow. Mid-way, two cool hands pressed down gently over his eyes and two lips closed simultaneously over his mouth. The lips were not nearly so cool or so gentle as the hands, and they went directly to the business of kissing him with an air of abandon and authority. Marc struggled away from them. "Guess who, you old monster," a voice whispered gaily. "Unhand me, you perfidious little heller," Marc grated. "Beast!" * * * * * The hands snapped away from Marc's eyes, and he looked up to see Toffee scowling down at him. Her green eyes were alive with annoyance, and her red hair hung loosely about her shoulders like cascading flame. Her transparent emerald-colored tunic was, as always, a completely disinterested party when it came to the matter of concealing her comely figure. One gold-sandaled foot was tapping a silent tattoo against the grass. "Sometimes," she said evenly, "you turn my stomach. The way you keep shoving me away from you all the time, you'd think I wasn't gorgeous or something. It's beginning to ruin my self-confidence. Just a little peck or pat at the proper moment wouldn't hurt you any, you know." "Do you have to be quite so effusive with your greetings?" Marc asked timidly. "Couldn't we just shake hands?"