Red Snow

Professor Marshall

I awoke from a heavy slumber to find myself in a dark, unfamiliar cave. The chamber was stark, almost primitive: a bed, a table, a single chair. On the table lay a stack of books, and before them sat an old man with a tangled beard, his head bent low in reading.

Confusion swept over me. I had no idea where I was, why I was here, or who this elderly figure might be. My last memory was of leaving the expedition camp the night before, striking east in search of water. Somewhere in the desert I lost my bearings, trudging on through a sea of sand, climbing one blazing dune after another. The sun pressed down like fire, wrapping me in its venomous heat until I thought I would ignite. My canteen emptied, my body trembling, I collapsed upon a dune and stared in despair at the endless horizon. Death seemed to close in—yet I clung stubbornly to life, forced myself up, staggered a few steps, and then sank into darkness.

Now I studied the old man at the table. His expression was calm, unreadable. All I could see was the shock of white hair and his broad, luminous forehead. Surely it was he who had rescued me, bringing me to this cave. But who was he really? And where exactly was here?

At last he lifted his head and met my gaze. In that instant my heart shuddered. His eyes, sharp with unfathomable wisdom, seemed to strip my soul bare. I felt naked before him, powerless to look away.

“I am Marshall,” he said with a gentle smile, rising slowly to his feet.