Franz Marc Dog Lying in the Snow

Franz Marc Dog Lying in the SnowFranz Marc Die kleinen gelben PferdeFranz Marc Deer in the Woods IIFranz Marc Blaues Pferd 1Franz Marc Affenfries
think,' said Tomjon, 'that we're lost.'
Hwel looked at the baking purple moorland around them, which stretched up to the towering spires of the Ramtops themselves. Even in the height of summer there were pennants of snow flying from the highest peaks. It was a landscape of describable beauty.
Bees were busy, or at least endeavouring to look and sound busy, in the thyme by the trackside. Cloud shadows through clumps of hemlock and pine, outposts of the forest, it was pleasant enough to let the mules go at their own pace. The road, Hwel felt, had to go somewhere.
This geographical fiction has been the death of many people. Roads don't necessarily have to go anywhere, they just have to have somewhere to start.
'We are lost, aren't we?' said Tomjon, after a while.flickered over the alpine meadows. There was the kind of big, empty silence made by an environment that not only doesn't have any people in it, but doesn't need them either.Or signposts.'We were lost ten miles ago,' said Hwel. 'There's got to be a new word for what we are now.''You said the mountains were honeycombed with dwarf mines,' said Tomjon. 'You said a dwarf could tell wherever he was in the mountains.''Underground, I said. It's all a matter of strata and rock formations. Not on the surface. All the landscape gets in the way.''We could dig you a hole,' said Tomjon.But it was a nice day and, as the road meandered