Between two rocks the road goes, and how I wish that the slaves who beat the stones flat had died first, or that their masters had made them go round one stone or the other. Blessed thought! Had they but ground them down, we would not now have to pass between. Alas, perhaps for the best they were not made into little stones, little rocks which might have spread their malice far and wide.
As things stand, as they stand, as the road runs, we must pass through what is in essence a door. I need not tell you the danger. Needless to say, no one knows how to close that door, nor how to bar the outsiders from coming in.
Our duty, then, is simply to walk the road, and where that road leads, where it goes beyond the door of the two stones, I cannot tell. Travelers do return, but they will not speak of the things beyond.
