 What statement would the narrator most likely agree with?
He was Yandro, the Stranger of the Prophecy—and he found that he was destined to fight both sides. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Words formed themselves on my thick tongue, words that must have been spoken by so many reviving unfortunates through the ages: "Where am I?" And at once there was an answer: " You lie upon the world Dondromogon. I knew the language of that answer, but where it came from—above, beneath, or indeed within me—I could not say. It is as well, for this will be a birth and beginning of your destined leadership on Dondromogon." The voice was telling me that I had been snatched from worlds away, for a specified purpose here on whatever windswept planet Dondromogon might be. "It is a world the size of your native one," came words of information. My eyes were tight shut against the dust, but they saw in imagination such a planet—one-half incandescent, one-half pitchy black. Of course, such areas, between the hot and cold hemispheres, would be buffeted by mighty gales ... the voice was to be heard again: "War is fought between the two strips of habitable ground. War, unceasing, bitter, with no quarter asked, given or expected. Dondromogon was found and settled long ago, by adventurers from afar. "Suffice it that you were needed, and that the time was ripe. There is a proper time, like a proper place, for each thing and each happening. I struck my forehead upon a floor of stone or concrete, and so was half-stunned, but still I could distinguish something like the sound of agitated voices. On this strange world called Dondromogon, what manner of intelligent life bade defiance to heat and cold and storm, and built these stout structures, and now laid hands—were they hands indeed?—upon me? My first glance showed me that my companions were creatures like myself—two-legged, fair-skinned men, shorter and slighter than I, but clad in metal-faced garments and wearing weapons in their girdles. Each also had a shorter weapon, with a curved stock to fit the palm of the hand, borne snugly in a holster. Especially as I don't know who I am, or where I'm from, or anything that has happened longer ago than just a moment.
 He does not fully understand how or why he is Yandro.
 He does not fully understand how or why he is Yandro.  The inhabitants of Dondromogon are unwelcoming no matter his status.  The inhabitants of Dondromogon are playing a joke on him.  He has been mistakenly selected by the people of Dondromogon.