The One Who Is Two (Book 1 of White Rabbit)

He stepped off the swaying stile into an open, friendly-looking field. Breathing deeply, he gazed up at the unbroken ceramic sky with a warm breeze on his face. The foul miasma of the wood began to seep out of his skin and away into the cleansing air. It was a good field this one, a decent and honest field.

  At the far end, a group of animals grazed together, crossing the field in unison, heads down munching grass. It was a herd of dogs – black Labradors if he wasn't mistaken – with floppy ears hanging around munching jaws, glossy coats shining in the sun, and tails wagging with quiet contentment. And not more than thirty yards away, in the shade of a handsome oak, two horses were sitting either side of a flat topped tree stump poring with intense concentration over a chess board. How did they pick up the pieces with their hooves? he wondered. He thought of going over to ask, but didn't want to disturb the game. There was a flash of yellow to his right as a single rabbit dashed for the cover of a nettle patch.

  He sensed that he wasn't going to get any trouble from this field and he was right. The dogs looked up lazily as he passed, grass ripples swirled about his feet in the usual way and the thistles danced with gay abandon, but nothing tried to impede his smooth progress as he followed the path to a gate in the far hedge.

  Once over the gate, he found himself standing on the smooth, plastic surface of a road. And then he was flummoxed – for the road, as is the norm for its kind, ran in two directions, either of which could have been the correct one for him to follow. On this occasion, however, he was lucky; a few yards to the right was a T-junction, and at the junction was a signpost, a proper black and white road signpost, assiduously designating each of the three routes.