THE weather had changed during the night. Ransom sat looking out from the edge of the forest in which
he had slept, on a flat sea where there were no other islands in view. He had walked a few minutes before
and found himself lying alone in a close thicket of stems that were rather reed-like in character but stout
as those of birch trees and which carried an almost flat roof of thick foliage. From this there hung fruits
as smooth and bright and round as holly-berries, some of which he ate. Then he found his way to open
country near the skirts of the island and looked about him. Neither Weston nor the Lady was in sight,
and he began walking in a leisurely fashion beside the sea. His bare feet sank a little into a carpet of
saffron-coloured vegetation, which covered them with an aromatic dust. As he was looking down at this
he suddenly noticed something else. At first he thought it was a creature of more fantastic shape than he
had yet seen on Perelandra. Its shape was not only fantastic but hideous. Then he dropped on one knee to
examine it. Finally he touched it, with reluctance. A moment later he drew back his hands like a man
who had touched a snake.