And she was on the move. The bag was not tightly woven, so she could see a bit, but she was disoriented and did know the territory. Heliola was frightened. She could smell the musk of the faun as he struggled off the lane into the wood, grunting to himself and humming because his hands were not free to pipe as he would have liked to do.
Staplet was an impulsive sort, which had always worried his parents, but it was too late to change his ways now. His conscience was bothering him, as well, but he told himself that it was for the good of the world that he acted, and hurried the faster.
He knew not how long he would have to go, but the magical compass pointed him steadfastly in an easterly direction, unwavering. If he were closer, presumably, he would have had to change course periodically. So—far. Maybe very far. He hoped that he could find food along the way, or he’d be in trouble.
He hoped, too, that his wish had been specific enough. Haven, he had said. Would it work? He shouldn’t have been so hasty.
On!