One particularly foggy day, the child had gone in and out, unable to decide whether to play outside in the thick wet mist that had settled on the valley or find something indoors, such as a favorite book. While these things rolled like a sluggish marble around the child’s mind, this was happening outside:

“Come on, Hardy, won’t you play? Just for a little bit?” A voice like a low, persistent wind begged.

“No.”

“But we hardly ever get to play.”

“It’s still light out, and I smell rain. If it rains, our only cover will be knocked out of the air in an instant” The second voice rumbled.

“It’s not going to rain. It hasn’t rained in months.”

“It hasn’t misted in months either. Yet, somehow here were are shrouded in fog, and you’re begging me to play- what? A game of spades? NO, Correy.”

A high growl erupted from the younger, “Hardy! You’re no fun!”

It should be noted that at this time, the child searching for the cure to boredom was sure thunder rumbled outside. A break from perusing the bookshelves revealed nothing because the air still hung thick with mist. If human eyes could have penetrated the moisture in the air, this is what they would have seen.