The next night found Lindsay and Nina cloaked and hooded, making their way surreptitiously into the darkened landscape. The orange moon hung low in the sky, barely shedding any light on the path they took. It was a cool night with the wind blowing from the north, the way they were headed. As they had left the village, the air had been filled with the sweet scent of gardenias and the soft sounds of a sleeping village, crickets chirping, a baby crying in someone’s house, a door opening and then banging softly shut. Now the air was quite except for the wind howling and their labored breaths as they took a particularly steep hill upwards.

Lindsay will always remember the night she fled from her grandmother’s house. She took a quick glance at her younger cousin walking to her right and sighed for the umpteenth time. She had long given up hope her cousin Nina would change her mind and stay behind. She had tried scaring her into staying, telling her there were many unknown variables ahead, that there would be many life threatening risks, she even tried telling her she was sure she was destined to only make it back in a coffin. But nothing had deterred her little cousin. Nina was usually a level-headed young girl. She listened to her elders and obeyed them most of the time, did her homework when she got home, did her share of chores without complaints. But once she got it in her head that an injustice was being done she became quite passionate. She always rooted for the underdog team, always wanted the little guy to win, and always helped those who needed it, whether they asked for it or not. Lindsay wished her cousin had stayed behind but at the same time she was very glad not to be alone in this journey, for it was to be a journey filled with mystery and dread, death and magic, the basic elemental battle between good and evil. Every book Lindsay had ever read about adventures had had a distinct line between good and bad, where the good guy wore white and the bad guy wore black and the good guy always won. The heroes in all those stories had been brave and skilled in something and had had brave friends who were skilled in something beneficial who would die fighting. But Lindsay didn’t feel particularly brave and she definitely did not have any skills except baking great pies and she didn’t think baking pies was going to help her get her Pearl back from Detoria.

-Are you sure this is the right way?

Her cousin’s sudden question brought her back from her reverie and made her stop and pull out the hastened map Comnard had drawn her yester eve.

-Yes, she told Nina with her eyes still on the map. It says so right here that we were to pass the Brisendor hills and then to follow the Eng river downward. There’s the river now, she said pointing to a silvery line winding between two hills and disappearing behind a third.