"Yes Father," replied Nikolas solemnly. They walked singly through the narrow path overgrown with weeds and spring flowers. Nikolas watched Father Gregorios in front of him in his well-worn black boots, stomping on red poppies and slender reeds, scattering the morning dew. Nikolas looked dashing in his Cretan clothes: black trousers tucked into knee-high black boots, a black shirt open at the collar, exposing his chest and his gold chain, and his black handkerchief around his head, with tiny tassels hanging on his forehead. Hearing their footsteps, a startled snake slithered away and disappeared into the wheat field below.
"Do you have any questions, Nikolas?"
"No, Father, I don't."
As they arrived at the gushing spring, a white owl returning from a long night's hunt and carrying a mouse in its claws flew into the enormous gorge. The sound of fluttering wings, the rushing of water, and the whisper of the wind were carried hundreds of meters up to the top of the gorge. Father Gregorios and Nikolas looked up in awe.
"Great are you, Lord, and wondrous are your creations. There are no words to describe their beauty," recited the Father.
"That says it all," concluded Nikolas.
***
"If you can communicate with my ship, please do so, Father." Nikolas looked the priest straight in the eye.
"I have already done so, Nikolas. They are expecting you. Get there fast before they court-martial you."
Nikolas took off with his Cretan companion and two horses.
"My name is Mikis," said the young man.
"I am Vangelis from Vianos," responded Nikolas.
"I know," the man replied, smiling.
For an hour, they rode westward following the shoreline, and then went straight up the steep mountain into another gorge toward the Big Horn, a huge rock that had protruded out of the ground long ago. Careful not to make themselves targets for enemy planes, they rode along dry creeks and shady small valleys to ascend the steep terrain. The horses were sweating and breathing heavily.
The morning sun was already like a huge red sphere, scorching the ground. A hot wind from the Libyan coast to the south dried their mouths and nostrils as they trod slowly along the gorge. Mikis cautioned Nikolas to be careful because any sudden noise or motion could throw the horses off balance and send them to their deaths.
"Let's walk the horses along the edge of the gorge," the guide suggested in a low voice.
But before Mikis could continue, there was a spatter of gunshots. Both Nikolas and Mikis hit the ground. One horse reeled and rose screeching to his hind legs. Nikolas tried to hold on to the leather straps, but the poor beast lost his balance and fell into the dark abyss of the gorge. There was a short silence. Then a voice asked: