r? This was the open land.

He sat up. Something scuffled. It was a little, brown squirrel running
in lovely, undulating bounds over the floor, its red tail completing the
undulation of its body--and then, as it sat up, furling and unfurling.
He watched it, pleased. It ran on friskily, enjoying itself. It flew
wildly at another squirrel, and they were chasing each other, and making
little scolding, chattering noises. The soldier wanted to speak to them.
But only a hoarse sound came out of his throat. The squirrels burst
away--they flew up the trees. And then he saw the one peeping round at
him, half-way up a tree-trunk. A start of fear went through him, though,
in so far as he was conscious, he was amused. It still stayed, its
little, keen face staring at him halfway up the tree-trunk, its little
ears pricked up, its clawey little hands clinging to the bark, its white
breast reared. He started from it in panic.

Struggling to his feet, he lurched away. He went on walking, walking,
looking for something for a drink. His brain felt hot and inflamed for
want of water. He stumbled on. Then he did not know anything. He went
unconscious as he walked. Yet he stumbled on, his mouth open.

When, to his dumb wonder, he opened his eyes on the world again, he
no longer tried to remember what it was. There was thick, golden light
behind golden-green glitterings, and tall, grey-purple shafts, and
darknesses further off, surrounding him, growing deeper. He was
conscious of a sense of arrival. He was amid the reality, on the real,
dark bottom. But there was the thirst burning in his brain. He felt
lighter, not so heavy. He supposed it was newness.

The air was muttering with thunder. He thought he was walking
wonderfully swiftly and was coming straight to relief---or was it to
water?

Suddenly he stood still with fear. There was a tremendous flare of gold,
immense--just a few dark trunks like bars between him and it. All the
young level wheat was burnished gold glaring on its silky green. A
woman, full-skirted, a black cloth on her head for head-dress, was
passing like a block of shadow through the glistening, green corn, into
the full glare. There was a farm, too, pale blue in shadow, and the
timber black. And there was a church spire, nearly fused away in the
gold. The woman moved on, away from him. He had no language with which
to speak to her. She was the bright, solid unreality. She would make a
noise of words that would conf