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Zion had seen two forests. One they lived in. The other was a shadowy thing inhabitedby giants, just a happentrack away but faintly visible nonetheless.
    But now the shadows had disappeared and they saw one forest, one happentrack, one world.
    “The umbra’s gone here too,” said Pong. “What does it mean?”
    They found out soon enough.
    “Hah! Piskeys!” came a roaring shout that seemed to vibrate through their very flesh. “I can see you!”
    They swung around. A huge figure was scrambling clumsily down a cleft in the cliff. It jumped to the ground, and the beach shook. It ran swiftly toward them, with gigantic strides.
    “Into the forest!” cried Pong.
    Bart was already on his way, moving quickly with the characteristic gnomish scuttle. They darted into the undergrowth, Bart in the lead. Luckily they picked up a rabbit track almost immediately and followed it, hearing the crash of pursuit nearby.
    “Come back here, you little piskeys! You can’t get away from me.” Heedless of obstacles, the giant plunged after them.
    “North, Bart!” cried Pong. “Head north!”
    “Which way is north?” Bart shouted over his shoulder, meanwhile rushing past a fork in the trail.
    “The other way!”
    Bart stopped abruptly. Pong crashed into him as he was in the act of turning. Bart grabbed Pong to steady himself. The sound of pursuit approached. Bart, paralyzed with fear, hugged pong close.
    “Let me go!” An appalling thought occurred to Pong. Bart was a spy, in the pay of the giants. That explained the shifty look. “Let me go, you bugger!” yelled Pong, prepared to sell his life dearly. Overbalancing, the gnomes toppled to the ground, grappling. It seemed to Pong that Bart’s face wore an expression of cunning and ferocity.
    Bart meanwhile had decided Pong had been trying to lead him into some kind of a trap. Throughout Cornwall, Mara Zion gnomeswere known to be untrustworthy and resentful of strangers. What better way to dispose of a stranger than to lure him into the hands of the giants? And here was Pong, pummeling him with his fists as they rolled in the dirt. “No way!” shouted Bart, rolling away, jumping to his feet and scampering along the path of his original choice, which led east. He was not surprised to hear Pong’s footsteps close behind, and it seemed he could feel Pong’s breath hot on his very neck.
    In silence, the gnomes raced through the forest while the roars of giantish pursuit faded and finally ceased.
    Pong ran in an agony of remorse. Belatedly, he’d recognized Bart’s terror for what it was. How could he have been so mistrustful as to have suspected this excellent gnome from Bodmin? And now the frightened fellow was running along the path that led straight to the giants’ village.
    It was Pong’s duty to save Bart. “Stop!” he shouted.
    This caused Bart to put on more speed. “Go away!” he cried.
    Despairing of making Bart see reason, Pong flung himself full length, grabbed Bart’s legs, and brought him crashing to the ground. “You’re heading for the giants’ village, Bart,” he explained breathlessly. “Don’t you understand, they can
see
us now? It’s all happened just like Fang said it would. We’re living in the same world as the giants!”
    Bart was silent.
    Assuming the Bodmin gnome was having difficulty understanding what might be a local phenomenon, Pong continued, “It’s been coming on for some time. The umbra seemed to be getting
clearer,
if you know what I mean. And then a few days ago, Fang actually
heard
two giants talking. But nobody would believe him, except me,” said Pong proudly, “because I’m his friend. And possibly the Miggot believed him,” he added in the interests of truth.
    It seemed to Pong that some reply would have been in order, but Bart offered none. Had fear ungnomed him again? Pong stood, regarding the motionless figure in pity. “Buck up, Bart,” he said.
    Then hesaw the rock under Bart’s head, and the trickle of blood.