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his arm, but did not bother to pry into John's mind again. Instead, he turned and looked at Harry.

"All right, human, I will explain this to you while your slow-thinking friend ponders his dilemma."

"That's cool," Harry said. "Let me guess, you're some sort of evil demon from Hell, right?"

The man thought that over. "Well, not exactly, but close enough. My name is Slate, and while I am not a demon, I am what you would consider 'supernatural' in origin."

"Ooh, vampire?"

"Vampires aren't real, human."

"Oh."

Slate frowned. "It will be useless to attempt further explanation of my origins. Anyway, John's family has a long history of, shall we say, helping me out."

"Oh! I know! You dress in black because you're Death!"

"Stop thinking like a human, you fool!" Harry's face fell as Slate continued. "I have offered John the eternal glory of serving me as his ancestors did, but unlike his ancestors, he has this silly idea that people will frown on him for serving the forces of evil."

"So you're evil?"

"Can I say something here?" John asked.

"According to your primitive code of morality, yes. I am very evil."

"No, really," John said. "This is all very interesting, but-"

Slate continued. "So now John is trying to decide if he should continue the family work or listen to his ahem morals."

"I've already decided," John said.

Harry smiled. "If you're evil, then we should destroy you."

Slate returned the smile with all the grace of a toad. "That would be laughable if I had a sense of humor. One doesn't get to be as spectacularly mighty as I by being vulnerable to feeble insects like you."

Another smile crossed Harry's face. "I get it. Since you're so powerful, you made the pig fly past, just to humiliate John."

"If that explanation satisfies you, then so be it."

John threw his hands up and walked away. The drone of the two debaters dimmed into the background as he approached the area from which he believed the pig had originated. He did not find much of interest. The new area he entered was flat, featureless grassland, with only one clump of trees a few yards away. John decided the trees were his best shot, so he approached. He felt a bit of trepidation as he imagined a group of angry pigs defending their turf with their amazing flying powers.

The clump consisted of a dozen scattered trees and some heavy underbrush. John walked in, wishing he were entering a full forest. He imagined the mysteries of the dark maze of trees, the penetrating smell of the foliage, and the feeling of security and oneness

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