19
It took us ten minutes to trudge our way through to a road, by the end of which time I had mud up to my knees and I couldn’t feel my toes. ‘Isn’t it meant to be summer?’ I groused, trying in vain to shake the cold, sludgy grime out of my sandals.
Jay made no answer. He glanced up and down the road, which was a beautiful construct of white stone. The tree-cover having thinned somewhat, it shone silver under the moon. ‘I think this way,’ he said, picking a direction at what looked to me like random.
Being Jay, though, he was perfectly right. Soon enough, the walls of a town appeared on the horizon, with clustered houses behind it. Built from the same white stone as the road, the town looked a creation of pure magick, like it had coalesced out of moonlight itself, and would vanish with
