“What is troubling you my friend?” asked Golwitch, staring into the firelight which beamed on his face.
“I am not sure I know,” said Menegal. “But for certain, out of all misunderstanding, there is something that is going to happen to us all, which is grievous.”
Golwitch looked into his friend’s eyes and wondered what this answer might mean. The road had been tiresome on the way to Thermopylae, and the time of sleep was not fair. Was all this weighing down upon Menegal?
“Have you received any dreams of late that were queer?” asked Golwitch, hoping the question might trigger something in Menegal’s thought.
“Yes. I do recall having a dream that was curious. I was standing up high on a peak’s edge, overlooking a cloud of dust slowly approaching; and soon another cloud was behind me, and I was surrounded. The air was stifling. A sense that no escape was covering me. I do not understand the meaning to this dream.” Menegal was then silent, waiting for Golwitch to speak.
The firelight started to grow dim; still, no one spoke. At the last, Golwitch stood up and put a new bundle of firewood on the dying embers, starting a new blaze. “To me, this dream is a forewarning. An attack may happen by the Persians, and there will be no way out for us. That is all I am able to draw forth from this dream.”
“What do you propose for me to do?” asked Menegal, wearily.
“Sleep tonight, and wait for the coming of a clearer sign. When the morning dawns, speak to me while we march." So saying, Golwitch stood up, and went to his rest.