The hidden paths of the Folk of the Black Bowers are both manifold and liminal: one crosses them often in Horsingdon, although they are usual hidden from ordinary sight, constituting an invisible topography coexistent with its corporeal counterpart, and tracing routes to places no sane human would dare to visit.
On occasion, however - usually whilst one is treading some obscure path or lane through wood and field - one realises, in a manner which often defies clear, verbal expression - or perhaps a feeling of inexpressible dread - that this occult interpenetration of things has somhow become manfest. At such times, it is best to turn around and head home, for to continue with one’s journey is to risk the possibility of arrival at a destination from which there may be no returning.
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