Sam didn't know how he had reached this place - he assumed that he must have walked and that he could not be very far from Darnick, but although the hills and the little valley through which a small burn ran were typical of the Border Country, there was nothing specific that he recognized: he saw no dykes or fences, no sheep or cattle, no signs of cultivation; but in themselves, these factors meant little: it was possible, even in the Twentyfirst Century, to leave the modern world behind, to lose oneself completely, to find places where no road led, where the only vehicles would be the quad-bikes that so many farmers used to reach the more isolated corners of their farms; so he was not unduly concerned, unless the black-out he was experiencing had lost him several days and nights, in which case he might easily be further away, up past Blainslie in the peaceful and quiet area which lay between the A7 and the A68, or even much further South, in the foothills of the Cheviots beyond Oxnam and Hounam - it all depended on how fit he was and how much ground he could have covered; oh! how he wished he could remember anything, beyond the headache which had stolen up on him while the two groups of Time Travellers bickered among themselves over something he had said, he had heard rebuttels and surrebuttels but which, for the life of him, had vanished into the ether, just as the voices had receded into white noise - he had felt his stomach heave, thought that he was going to chunder, but nothing after that; for now, he watched the two riders who were quite oblivious of his presence - they both wore riding cloaks which hid their clothes from view, the man seemed a confident and experienced rider and he was leading the way, although his companion, a blonde woman, was the one who seemed to be pointing in various directions and was doing most of the talking, but her words were lost on the wind; he still lay flat on his back, his head turned so that he was facing them as their horses picked their way across the opposite hillside: if only he could hear what they were saying - they certainly were not looking for him, not members of a search party out on the hills trying to find out where he had gone; was that a good sign? perhaps it had, indeed, been only a few hours (where was his watch? his phone? he must have left them behind, like his wallet, which would have been in his jacket pocket and he clearly remembered hanging his jacket on the back of the chair and must have forgotten to pick it up when he left, indeed, cannot have intended to go far, so that was surely a hopeful sign that he was near home, as he regarded the little cottage in which he had been based for about a year now; eventually he decided to make the first move: he sat up slowly, so as not to spook the horses, and that was when he realised that neither of the pair was wearing a riding helmet, which was certainly unusual nowadays, but no matter; he slowly waved his right arm and called out to them: "salve, salve, ego perdidi, ubi tu dicas mihi," which was the moment when he realised that he was speaking Latin! now, where the hell had that come from? and it was also when he recognized the woman - Christiane Lauderdale, believed to have been murdered in Ranulph Ochan'toshan's Hill House in Bowden - how the hell had she got here? thoughts and ideas were beginning to tumble in Sam's head, culminating in an explosion of white light, then his eyes rolled upwards, and he sank back onto the grass, beside an ophidian, who slithered away!