Blackfeather Woods a distant ship smoke on the horizon

Her head swiveled slowly upon her neck as she turned to look at him, his words like an anchor against a turbulent sea. Always. Always. Always. She led, and he would follow. Was the reverse true? Well, of course it was.

Maegi would have ran away from him a long time ago if she did not have that same steadfastness.

Then follow me now, Maegi murmured, the unmarred corner of her mouth curving upward, slightly mischevious. Not to the tunnels, with all their nightmares. Nor the altar, nor the poison tree, nor Spiderlings' Glen—

Damn it, what part of this place wasn't haunted?

She pressed her nose against his neck, head butting gently, softly, against his shoulder. The idea slipped away. No, she decided, shrugging. Stay here for now. I mean. . . Maegi pulled back, eyes darting around them. Here, now. Not. . .here.

She sounded like a raving lunatic; the poppies were weighing down her tongue, her mind. Suddenly, sleep felt like the best option. I'm tired, she muttered, and sank back on her haunches. She, too, looked a lot older than her three years and some moons.