Whether that city was built upon the twilight or whether it rose from
the coasts of some other world he did not know. He saw it dominate the
City of Never, and strove to reach it; but at this unmeasured home of
unknown colossi the hippogriff shied frantically, and neither the
magic halter nor anything that he did could make the monster face it.
At last, from the City of Never's lonely outskirts where no
inhabitants walked, the rider turned slowly earthward. He knew now why
all the windows faced this way--the denizens of the twilight gazed at
the world and not at a greater than them. Then from the last step of
the earthward stairway, like lead past the Under Pits and down the
glittering face of Toldenarba, down from the overshadowed glories of
the gold-tipped City of Never and out of perpetual twilight, swooped
the man on his winged monster: the wind that slept at the time leaped
up like a dog at their onrush, it uttered a cry and ran past them.
Down on the World it was morning; night was roaming away with his
cloak trailed behind him, with mists turned over and over as he went,
the orb was grey but it glittered, lights blinked surprisingly in
early windows, forth over wet, dim fields went cows from their houses:
even in this hour touched the fields again the feet of the hippogriff.
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