Serpent Lake To my dismay, I have forgotten how to leave

She closed her eyes, and Merrit surmised he had struck a bad memory. Her words made him certain. She did not seem adverse to sharing, at least, and Merrit tipped his head in quiet thought to what she said. He knew of no place that fit her description. Not even Ursus had been deprived of the sky - though of light was another matter.

He considered her again, and the sad beauty reflected in the cadence of her words. Finally, he said, "Well, I am glad you get to see them now." He offered her a small smile. Glad, indeed, that she had rid herself of the dark place she had been born, and he thought, briefly, of that one child of Merrick's who had stumbled across Easthollow. Merrit had not thought of him in a very long time. He prayed anew that he'd had the strength to pull himself from Ursus' shadow.

"And what other things do you delight to see, now that the sky is yours? For it sounds as if you have found brighter ground to walk."