The last rays of the dying sun threw enormously elongated shadows across their path, turning even the smallest rocks into dark phantoms, reaching out to scare and block their way.
Halfway home, it became extremely dark. There was no moon yet, so Matica and her father had to take extra time to watch out for trees and bushes they could hardly see, but when the silvery half moon rose and cast its pale light over the dark plateau, the bushes and trees and the grass weren’t phantoms any longer; they became grabbing ghosts to Matica. The soft wind rustled the leaves of the trees, playing more and more tricks on her by showing her weird, ghostly shadows. Matica grabbed her father’s hand. She was frightened.