The storm finally broke just before sundown, the annoying, persistent drizzle of rain drying up at last. As the sun poked a red, tentative eye through the cloudbank, its dusky light fell upon the dew-speckled grass and turned all the fields to shimmering fire.
Vix shifted uncomfortably. Blinking the last of the rainwater from her eyes, she checked her surroundings. A trackless wilderness stretched out in all directions. Groups of sturdy pine trees fanned out across the rolling grass, standing like implacable sentinels. Between them, patches of wildflowers peered out like clusters of vibrant, curious eyes.
Vix grunted approvingly. “We must have covered fifteen miles,” she said.
“It felt like a thousand,” Caine said beside her, rubbing his neck. “Where are we, exactly?”
Vix turned to Mirra and waited.
The witch sniffled loudly. Her cold had gotten worse. “I dink we’re bin Aberdeen,” Mirra said thickly. “Dat is, so dong as bwee didn’t go doo far w... w.... Achoo!”