Page 137 of The Pyramid of Bones

The five of them caught fish and cooked them over the fire. They played poker and gin rummy till sunset. In the dark, they formed a smores assembly line. Michael toasted marshmallows on a stick, cooked to order, options ranging from lightly browned to charred. Sarah held a graham cracker in each hand, and Lincoln placed a piece of chocolate on the bottom cracker. Sarah sandwiched the gooey mallow between the crackers and slid it off the stick. They devoured smores until the chocolate supply ran out.

Late in the night, the northern lights appeared. Walt nudged Michael and Sarah from their slumber. They all stood and gazed at magic.

Green wafts smothered the horizon. It looked impossible. Ribbons pinned loosely on one end, allowed to flutter, then released to tremble and drift on solar breezes. Purple rivulets dribbled out from unseen sources. Dusky oranges and midnight blues embellished the impossibility before them, like flowers blooming in colors they cannot bloom in, in ground they cannot grow in. Instead of cracking open light to bleed across the day’s sky, the artisan dropped the pigments into his pipe and puffed out clouds of incandescence. A nice way to unwind after a long day and dream up the next morning’s masterpiece.

The lake’s mimicry placed the show in two theaters. Michael and Sarah sat near the edge of the plateau and looked down on the simmering green broth. It was a witch’s stew – its potency obvious but purpose obscure. Maybe it was an elixir that granted its imbibers bliss. Maybe it could start or end a plague. Maybe it could summon the devil himself.

Michael excused himself to pee. He hiked a little up the ridge they came down to reach the plateau. When done, he noticed a small ledge a little further up. He wanted a better vantage, where he could see more of the lake, along with the sky.

Michael stood a few feet from the edge. The heavens matched the earth. He could see his party below and estimated the drop at about 15 feet. Walt, Sarah, Sam, and Lincoln glowed like pixies in absinthe air.