"Then you go your way, Mark, and I mine." "No more attempts to dissuade me, Victor?" "You are over twenty-one, Mark, and answer for yourself, do you not? You are free to do as you wish?" "Of course." "Then please yourself. It is not for me to interfere with your wishes or to try to change your mind for you. You must make your own decisions, and answer for them to yourself." "Good. I am glad you realise that at last," snapped Mark. Victor and Graham watched him set off, striding down the narrow track towards the beach and the boat. "Let us return," Victor said to Graham, "and get on with our own lives." They had not gone more than a few yards when they heard the cry for help. "He hasn't got very far on his own," commented Graham, and turned to go back. "We'd better go and see what's happened." Victor shrugged. "If you insist, Graham; let us look." Mark was waist-deep in sand, gasping like a stranded fish, struggling, battling to escape being dragged down. Again and again his cries for help echoed in their ears. "Quicksand," said Victor, stating the obvious. "You knew it was there." "Would he have believed me?" "And you don't believe in helping him?" "He has chosen his path; who are we to interfere with his decisions? Perhaps he was ever fated to be drowned, Graham; and shall we interfere with the will of the gods?" "The gods you don't believe in?" "Perhaps he does believe in them," yawned Victor, "in which case, it being no disgrace to ask for help, he can call on them. And if they don't help him - well, that's up to them, not us; they're his gods, after all." They watched as Mark struggled and sank deeper; only his head and hands protruded now. "I think he will suffocate before he drowns," remarked Victor, "the tide being so far out." They watched in silence as Mark gradually slid from sight under the grey sands. "And if anyone ask after Mark?" asked Graham. "Who?" said Victor, looking up at the sky where clouds were gathering. "Some friend of yours?"