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The Paradise war

by

Stephen Lawhead




Chaper 1

An Aurochs in the Works


It all began with the aurochs.

We were having breakfast in our rooms at college. Simon was presiding over the table with his
accustomed critique on the world as evidenced by the morning's paper. "Oh, splendid," he sniffed,
"it looks as if we have been invaded by a pack of free-loading foreign photographers keen on
exposing their film-and who knows what else-to the exotic delights of Dear Old Blighty. Lock up
your daughters, Bognor Regis! European paparazzi are loose in the land!"

He rambled on awhile, and then announced: "Hold on!

Have a gawk at this!" He snapped the paper sharp and sat up straight-an uncommon posture for
Simon.

"Gawk at what?" I asked idly. This thing of his-reading the paper aloud to a running commentary of
facile contempt, scorn, and sarcasm, well-mixed and peppered with his own unique blend of cynicism-
had long since ceased to amuse me. I had learned to grunt agreeably while eating my egg and toast.
This saved having to pay attention to his tirades, eloquent though they often were.

"Some bewildered Scotsman has found an aurochs in his patch."

"You don't say." I dipped a corner of toast triangle into the molten center of a soft-boiled egg,
and read an item about a disgruntled driver on the London Underground refusing to stop to let off
passengers, thereby compelling a train-full of frantic commuters to ride the Circle Line for over
five hours. "That's interesting."

"Apparently the beast wandered out of a nearby wood and collapsed in the middle of a hay field
twenty miles or so east of Inverness." Simon lowered the paper and gazed at me over the top. "Did
you hear what I just said?"