Dawn Treader Valley Fisher, Fisher where are you.

For many days, Frolic meandered in no particular direction. More than once, she doubled back. It reminded her of the way a prey animal might behave during a hunt: always darting hither and thither to evade the jaws of the predator. She paid little mind to her surroundings, save to make sure nobody was following her.

Like the others before it, today passed in a series of bleary snapshots. Frolic found herself at the foot of a red mesa, entranced by the sight of the teal waters spilling down its face and rushing into the nearby gulch. Then she found herself at the edge of a great, golden plain, equally mesmerized by the swaying wheat. Then she found herself standing in the shade of a towering oak, the juxtaposition of such a tree out here in the lowlands finally jarring her to a focus.

Frolic craned her neck and blinked up at the leafy boughs, wondering just what it was doing here. She stared so long, her neck creaked when she dropped her head a few moments later, eyes rapidly scanning her surroundings. She swore she’d heard furtive footsteps and now the black fur on her spine prickled uneasily.