It quickly became difficult to breathe when Moffitt reached the bottom of the spiral staircase. The air was stuffy and absurdly hot. The torches lining the walls had tiny flames, barely able to shine with how little oxygen was in the air around them. The floor was completely bare. Not a single cobra could be seen.
Flashes of memories from the first time Moffitt came to the temple struck him. He felt dizzy, but remained upright as he walked down the corridor to Anah's former throne room. He felt Anah start shivering again, and pressed her gently against his chest. They entered the throne room, and Moffitt's gaze focused on the pile of ash laying on the throne itself. The ash was all that remained of the crystal ball.
Anah's trembling stopped. She looked down at the ash when they approached it. Her grip on Moffitt loosened, and she slithered down until she was parallel to the pile. She studied it for a moment, then inhaled, and exhaled gently. The ash pile blew apart, swirling like smoke and blowing back toward Anah and Moffitt. It weaved around them, flying out of the room and down the corridor to another part of the temple that Moffitt hadn't had a chance to see yet.
He felt compelled to follow it.
"Wait," Anah said. "I know where it is going."
"Where is it going?" Moffitt asked.
"The blackthorn tree," she whispered. "The tree… she destroyed it, she…" Anah's voice trembled.
"What tree? What're you talking about?"
Anah's breath quickened, and her voice became quiet. "A blackthorn tree… grew spontaneously in one of the chambers. It was a beautiful tree, with the purest white flowers, like snowflakes, and perfectly ripe fruit ready for picking. The symbol of prophecy. It was a sign, Moffitt, a sign I was destined to play a role in this particular prophecy." She lowered her head, and her voice cracked. "It was set alight. Nothing remains but a blackened trunk and fragile branches of charcoal."
"Your witch?"
Anah nodded. "She was convinced it would erase the prophecy."
"She really was mad. Isn't it common knowledge that prophecies can't be erased or altered?"
"There will always be people who try to control or avoid the power of prophecies, just like there will always be people who try to control magic without first understanding that magic itself can never be completely understood."
"Like the Sorcery Division."
"Like them, and like many, many witches and warlocks over the last several thousand years."
Moffitt still felt like he needed to follow the trails of ash. When Anah didn't say anything more, he started heading down the corridor. It was very poorly lit, and his blood ran cold when he reached the end, as the cruel, sadistic smile of Leitzke came to mind. He feared he would see that face when he turned to go down the next corridor.
"Nothing will jump out at you, dear," Anah said. "Do you want me to look first?"
"I can do it," Moffitt replied. He swallowed hard before looking around both corners, and taking a step to go down the righthand corridor. Relief and comfort gradually came over him knowing that Anah was watching his back.
The corridors continued to get darker and darker, until Moffitt needed to take his flashlight off his belt and turn it on. He slowly swept the light back and forth, up and down. There wasn't so much as a tiny spider in that temple. No life anywhere. That alone sent shivers down his spine. Even the desert itself had life. That life, human and animal, fascinated him. To be in a place completely devoid of life… it felt extremely unnatural. Moffitt found himself wanting badly to leave, but there were still things he wanted to know, he felt so close to answering the question he came here for: where did that tune come from?
Something tall and gnarled cast twisted shadows on the wall when he aimed his flashlight at it. Moffitt stopped, moving the beam of light over a huge, black tree, devoid of leaves. The tree itself seemed to have sprouted from a small crack in the floor. Ordinarily, something like that didn't seem possible, especially since the blackthorn was native to the more temperate regions of Europe. Then again, this was no ordinary tree.
Moffitt spotted the pale ash from the crystal ball lying scattered around the base of the tree. "This stood for two thousand years like this?" he asked.
"It did," Anah replied. "All this time… I locked away the memories of it."
"If you knew that the prophecy would still be carried out, why did you lock away those memories?"
"Even with the reassurance of the prophecy, that… did nothing to stop… her."
Moffitt sat in front of the tree. "Even though things would be better two thousand years later, there was nothing to save you then from how much she hurt you."
"Exactly."
Moffitt was unsure of what to say that would comfort Anah. He felt like he had said everything he possibly could over the last several years. He gave a quiet sigh, and raised his hand to touch the tree trunk. Suddenly, he felt as though his head was being pulled forward, and he was plunged into a memory. A memory long forgotten.
Michael was pointing at something under one of the trees bordering the garden. "Look at this, Jack! I've never seen a snake like this before!"
His brother, younger than him by six years, had a tendency to be fearless. 14-year-old Moffitt knelt to get a look at what Michael was pointing at. Coiled between two jutting roots was a black and gray patterned common adder, slitted eyes the color of rubies. "It's an adder, Michael. They're venomous. Don't touch."
"What if I just touch its tail?" Michael asked.
"Are you mad? I'm not saying this to be a git. These snakes are not to be touched at all. They're dangerous." Moffitt stared at the adder. He was beginning to feel… off. The feeling grew worse the longer he looked at the snake. Its ruby-red eyes were locked on his, but Moffitt quickly looked away when he began feeling like he would be sick. "We should get it out of the garden, though. Go find a stick—actually, get one of the shovels from the stable."
"Okay!" Michael tore off running toward the stable, leaving his older brother alone with the adder.
Moffitt noticed the adder cocking its head back. He stepped back—which gave the adder a chance to dart away. "Blast!" He didn't want it loose in the garden, but he also didn't want to kill it.
He thought he could grab its tail, direct it to an open space where he and Michael could scoop it up with the shovel. "Gotcha!" He nabbed the adder's tail.
The viper turned quicker than Moffitt could react, sinking its fangs into his left hand. "No! Get off!" He tore the snake from his hand, throwing it toward an open space in the garden. Cold fear gripped him when he saw the yellow venom mixing with the blood on his hand. "Michael! Michael! Get Father!"
Michael came running, holding a shovel. "What is it, Jack?" The boy's face paled. "What happened to your hand?"
"Get Father! Stupid adder bit me!"
Michael's eyes were filling with tears, but he turned and sprinted back to the house, calling for their parents. Within minutes, their father, Nicholas, was running outside. "Jack! Good gracious, boy!" He wasted no time in taking his oldest son to the hospital, uttering quiet prayers and squeezing Moffitt's good hand as they were quickly seen by a doctor.
"Snakebite?" The doctor was a fairly young man, perhaps only having practiced for a couple of years by that point.
"Yes. An adder," Nicholas said.
"How long ago was he bitten?"
"About a half-hour, I think."
The doctor cleaned the wound, careful to wipe the visible venom away from the bitemarks themselves. "I'm not convinced the adder delivered venom into the boy's bloodstream," he said.
"How is that possible?"
"I saw the venom come out when I pulled the snake off," Moffitt said.
"After this long, you should be showing symptoms. Do you feel a tingling sensation?"
"No, sir."
"There's also no swelling." The doctor looked at Nicholas. "I think your son got lucky. I've dealt with many adder bites before and have never seen anything like this. Best explanation I can come up with is maybe it started injecting as the boy was taking the snake off and it just barely missed. Trust me, I am not trying to dismiss your concerns—you certainly made the right choice coming as quickly as possible, but…" He shook his head. "I will wrap the wound. I don't think you need to worry about venom. Keep an eye on him."
Moffitt wasn't able to go back outside when he returned home, but all he cared about at that point was how on Earth he was okay. He waited. And waited. And waited some more. No symptoms. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. This had to be a miracle of some kind. This couldn't be possible.
And yet, it happened.
Moffitt looked at his left hand as he emerged from his memory. There was no evidence of the adder's bite. "Seems ridiculous I would forget something like that."
"You eventually dismissed that incident as nothing more than a lucky accident, and it was among several deeply suppressed after your brother's death," Anah said. She fell silent for a moment. "There are other memories that are dormant within you. Ones not even I could see."
Moffitt went to touch the tree again, but paused. "I… what if they're…"
"We will work through whatever you see, dear."
"Alright." He swallowed nervously, drew in a breath, and touched the tree.
"What're you humming, Jack?" His mother, Adeline, entered the kitchen, carrying a small tray with a teapot and three empty cups. "You've been humming all blooming day and it's driving the rest of us batty."
"I have?" Moffitt looked up from spreading jam on his muffin.
"Yes, you have. Are you feeling alright?"
"Oh, yes, of course, Mother. Sorry." Moffitt went back to the muffin. He allowed his mind to wander once his mother was out of the kitchen. The weather was nice. The windows were open. Spring had prompted the birds to come out and the flowers to blossom. He wished he was outside instead of studying, but graduation from secondary school was rapidly approaching and he had to not just pass, but pass with the highest possible marks in order to solidify his entrance into Cambridge. There was no room for failure, and therefore not much room for anything else.
Without realizing it, he started softly humming again. He had heard it in a dream, and wasn't sure if it was something he had overheard on a radio or if he just made it up.
He paused his humming in order to eat. When he finished, he went back up to his bedroom to continue studying. The tune persisted. He swore he never heard it before, but could distinctly hear it in his brain. It made studying difficult. With a heavy sigh, Moffitt closed the book on his desk, and stood to find his violin case. He had no sheet music for this pervasive tune. How could he possibly recreate it?
He still tried. The first few notes sounded perfect, exactly what he heard in his dream. He tried to remember the notes so he could write them down later, turn them into a new piece. He wasn't looking for a career in music, but the idea of creating something new that others could enjoy was so tantalizing and delightful that he kept right on going.
Memorizing quickly became secondary. He continued playing, entranced, determined to hear it out to the end. His eyes were closed, and he was being bombarded with voices, sensations, visions. The music was becoming increasingly loud in his head. A metallic scent suddenly disrupted the flow of everything rushing by. The voices became clearer. Something about prophecy, destiny.
Black spots began spreading across his vision. His head felt light, and blood dripped from his nose. The music stopped, and he collapsed in an unconscious heap.
Moffitt realized he had been holding his breath. He took his hand away from the tree, noticing the bark was no longer charred, but slowly turning back to its original state. He faced Anah. "I… I had heard… that same tune? In a dream. I-I completely forgot about it when I passed out."
Anah nodded.
"Do you know what it means? Why I couldn't remember?"
"You had many instances connected to the prophecy, and your role as the snake in particular, where you suppressed those memories. You were not ready to comprehend what was set to happen over the course of your life."
"I never felt ready to comprehend what was going to happen. Even today, I still don't feel ready. I know my job is to help Dietrich, but how do I know I'm… actually fulfilling that role?"
"Do you consider him a friend?"
"Yes."
"Did you consider him a friend during the war?"
"No, but… I didn't exactly hate him, or want to see him suffer."
"When the war ended, did you desire friendship with him? Beyond the obligations of the prophecy. Genuine friendship."
"I did. I wrote to him, and tried to keep in contact, but he wasn't exactly in the mood."
"Did you consider him a friend after he began recovering from his suicide attempt?"
"Yes. By then… yes, absolutely."
"Then you are succeeding."
"It still feels like there's more to this."
"In good time, dear, your questions will be answered."
"Is there something you can answer now?"
"What is it?"
"Why… am I being shown these memories now?"
"The blackthorn tree has many mysterious properties that even the most scholarly of witches and warlocks do not know of. Even though this one was mostly destroyed, the fact that it came here by unnatural means suggests that there is more to it than meets the eye. It still possesses magic of some kind."
"It also seems to be repairing itself each time I interact with it."
"I noticed."
"But… why those memories specifically?"
"You were ready to understand the memory of being bitten by the adder. It did give you venom. You were completely unaffected by it."
"I've known about this… gift since I met you. Why didn't it trigger then?"
"Perhaps some outside assistance was needed."
"I would think you would be enough outside assistance."
"Maybe, but apparently not. You understand now. That is all that matters."
"And the memory of the tune?"
"The tune has been within you for a very long time, dear, and you very nearly completed it that day."
"What is the point of it, though? It feels like it has nothing to do with the prophecy."
"It has a little to do with the prophecy." Anah seemed hesitant to continue. "I had a lot of time alone with my own thoughts, wondering why things had to play out the way they did. When I begged for help, because in time, I was spoken to and granted a chance to break free of the curse placed on me to guard this place until the end of time. I just had to wait. And wait. And wait. And keep waiting. I know Troy gives me a hard time about it, but I do understand your frustration with waiting for answers. The time you and the others will have to wait is a drop in the bucket compared to me." She paused. "Sorry, I… did not mean for that to sound like… I have suffered more than you."
"Don't apologize. I agree. You waited far longer than any of us will live."
"Still, it—"
"Anah," Moffitt touched the cobra's head, "please, don't apologize. This is what we're trying to help you with. You don't have to hide all of this. I appreciate everything you do, and I do mean everything. When we moved into the house, you made the whole process much less overwhelming. Every time I was sick, or having a bad day because of my memories from the war, you always did your best to help me feel better, and… I don't think words alone can tell you how much I appreciate all of that. Let me do something for you. Let me help you understand your missing memories. Let me prove to you that all the waiting you did wasn't for nothing."
Anah was quiet for a moment, then she nuzzled Moffitt's hand.
"You didn't wait for nothing. You waited for something. Something far better than what you had before. Your witch threw you away like you were rubbish, and you are not rubbish. Not to me. Not to Dietrich. Not to Troy or Hitch or Tully or Vanora or my parents, and it… it frustrates me every bloody day to see you like this. I don't know how to show you that you didn't wait for nothing." A lump formed in his throat. "It's frustrating because you were hurt so much and I don't know how to take that away. I know there's no taking it away. It's always going to be there. It's always going to hurt. But, I am not going to deny that it hurts me to see you afraid."
Anah stayed quiet, looking like she was thinking about everything Moffitt was saying.
"Your witch tried to destroy you, all because you didn't think what she was doing was right. You tried to be a moral compass and she hated you for it. You suffered in a way no one on the face of the Earth can even begin to comprehend. I can't even imagine what it's like to be you, having to hide everything from us—from me—from the people you've come to love. You take no pleasure in hiding the truth, do you?"
"No."
"You want badly to tell us, don't you?"
"I do."
"I don't envy you that. I'm not going to pretend I understand magic or the supernatural—I don't even understand why I of all people was given the ability to communicate with snakes and be immune to their venom. I was never afraid of snakes, but I wouldn't say they were my favorite creature. I had no personal history with them. It seems so random and strange, but that's what I was given. I don't understand it, nor do I think I'm meant to." Moffitt sighed, feeling he was beginning to ramble. "W-What I'm trying to tell you is… I know you've been put through hell. You know you've been put through hell. Don't pretend that you weren't. It's not helping anyone. Just tell me when things hurt. Talk to me when you need to, or even if you just want to. Interrupt me when I get too wrapped up in my work. I botched up time with my family when I was attending Cambridge. Don't let me botch it up with my wife, my child, you, or any of my friends. Please." He drew in a breath. "Where did that tune come from?"
Anah hesitated for a couple of heartbeats. "It was something I… created for myself while stuck here. I spent a long time perfecting it. I am not sure how or why it was shared with you and Dietrich, but… it was."
"Do you remember why you created it?"
"Comfort, I guess."
"Is it possible for me to play it?"
Anah nodded. "There should be no passing out or nosebleeds this time."
"Good to know." Moffitt took off his backpack, untied his violin case from it, and opened the case. He hadn't touched the violin itself in years, but he remembered how to properly tune it and make sure it was still working. This was certainly one piece he didn't need a sheet for. All he needed to do was close his eyes and focus on the memory of the first time he heard that tune.
Everything below Dietrich's waist felt numb, his right leg especially. He had been in Icepatch's saddle since Moffitt and Anah went into the temple, while Janvier was pacing around on foot.
"So, when do we go check on them?" Janvier asked, approaching Icepatch.
"That, I am not sure. As far as I know, there is nothing dangerous inside the temple," Dietrich replied. "I remember lots of cobras, though."
"Those would not be a danger to Jack." Janvier sighed. "It has been a long time since he and Anah went inside."
"Remember, this is a personal mission for Anah. She never wanted to come back here. It is probably a lot for her to take in, even with Moffitt at her side. Give them time."
"How much time?"
Dietrich sighed. "We will wait enough hour, and then go in."
Janvier nodded. "Sounds fair."
Several long minutes passed. Janvier continued pacing, and Dietrich wanted to give Icepatch a break. "Could you help me down, please?"
"Sure." Janvier stopped his pacing and went over to Icepatch's right side. "Can you lift your foot so I can move the stirrup?"
"Everything is numb right now."
"Oh. So, maybe I can—" Janvier gently took Dietrich's boot, and pushed it up before pulling the stirrup off.
Dietrich bit back a series of curses when a flash of pain burst through his knee. He tried not to writhe too much, as he didn't want to give Icepatch a command he wasn't intending to.
Janvier winced. "Sorry. You said everything was numb."
"Apparently not," Dietrich grunted. He managed to get his left boot out of the other stirrup, and waited for Janvier to assist with getting him down from the horse. Despite the slight mishap, Dietrich still thanked him.
Janvier nodded in acknowledgement. "Do you need anything?"
"Water, please. Thank you."
After handing Dietrich his canteen, Janvier sat next to the skinny German. He gave a heavy sigh. "Can I make a confession to you?"
"Yes. Why?" Dietrich gave Janvier a look, hoping that the Frenchman wasn't about to turn on them.
"When Jack said that he was completely immune to snake venom, I was tempted to say to him, and you, that he could make himself a lot of money selling his blood to make antivenom around the world."
"You would not be the first person to say that to him."
"Really?"
Dietrich nodded. "Nicholas once told him that one of the other professors at Cambridge—I believe this actually was someone who works in toxicology—said that such a 'miracle antivenom' would have people offering thousands, maybe even millions of British pounds for a single vial."
"I hope this professor is someone that can be trusted. Such a rare and extraordinary cure would certainly have some… less scrupulous individuals sniffing around." Janvier went quiet for a moment. "Myself included."
Dietrich glared at him.
"No need to worry. I talked myself out of it, but… I have been feeling guilty about it for the last day or so." Janvier sighed. "Last night, I seriously considered taking a vial of blood from Jack while he slept. Anah was with you, so I doubted she would notice—"
"Oh, she would notice. You would have been in a lot of trouble had you attempted that."
"I know that now. Anyway, I just knew that even one vial of his blood could set me up for the rest of my life. I could find somewhere quiet to live and not have to worry about anything from the past. This coming after Jack told me that I have options, and that he is willing to help me, and that things can go back to the way they were twenty years ago…" Janvier shook his head. "Maybe it really is best we go our separate ways."
"All because you thought about taking a blood sample?"
"Yes."
"You thought about it. You did not act on it. You do not have to beat yourself up over thinking about something like that, because, again, you did not act on it."
"I should not have said something, though." Janvier looked down at his boots, face red with shame. "You are probably judging me for it."
"Judging you—or anyone—is not my job. If anything, you are very brave for telling the truth, and admitting you had those thoughts. The first step to solving any problem is admitting that there is one."
"Are you sure? Because… I feel like a coward, driven by guilt and fear that Jack will hate me for this."
"I doubt he will hate you if you talk about this with him. Like I said, you would not be the first person who has openly discussed this with him. The toxicology professor, and his own father. Nicholas never mentioned the money, though—he has lost people on expeditions to snakebites. To have an antivenom like that would save thousands of lives."
"What was Jack's response?"
"He sympathizes, but he is aware of the fact that there would be a massive target on his back if this became widespread knowledge." Dietrich paused, wondering if this was even something he should be discussing with Janvier. Then again, Moffitt was the one who said, out loud, in front of Janvier, that he was immune to snake venom. "He already gave several samples of blood to various research departments, but that is all."
"So, he will not be upset if I talk about this?"
"No. I certainly would not walk up to him and blurt out that you thought about selling his blood for a ton of money as soon as he leaves the temple, but, in good time, I would discuss it." Dietrich shifted in an attempt to get comfortable. Pain pulsed through his knee. "It will take us about two days to reach Tunis. Can I last two days?"
"We still have plenty of bone-healing potion for you, and a couple of vials of Anah's numbing potion in case we get pinned down by another sandstorm."
"Good. Honestly, I have no idea what we would have done without you with us if this had played out similarly."
"Anah probably would have come up with something. You would have been alright without me."
"Maybe." Dietrich looked over at Janvier, who was staring off at the eastern horizon. If anyone is familiar with doubting themselves, it would definitely be me. He touched Janvier's shoulder. "You are on the right track. It will take time, but eventually, things will look up for you. You have to work for it, though. Your past may come back to haunt you or tempt you, but it is up to you to resist it."
Janvier nodded a little. "It still surprises me that Jack gave me another chance."
"He still sees the man he was friends with, and he wants that back." Dietrich gave Janvier's shoulder a squeeze, then looked toward the temple. Things had been quiet apart from their conversation, the wind, and the occasional snort from one of the horses. Not too long after Dietrich began studying the temple, the horses all began looking at the temple as well, their ears pricked toward it. Dietrich glanced at them, then heard the sound of a violin, playing that strange tune. "Do you hear that?"
"I do," Janvier said. "It is… beautiful." He stood, whispering, "Magnifique," then turned to Dietrich. "Is that Jack?"
"I would assume so."
A smile crossed Janvier's face. "He never told me he could play the violin! He is wonderful!"
"Then shut up and listen."
"Right. Sorry."
Dietrich closed his eyes while listening. He remembered the dreams he had where he was hearing that tune for the first time, played on a violin. He remembered standing atop a sand dune in each of those dreams, surrounded by nothing but desert while the music drowned out all other sounds. He remembered it was beautiful and haunting. It sent chills down his spine, raised goosebumps on his arms, and brought tears to his eyes.
He couldn't stand now, but he still felt the chills, the goosebumps, and the tears forming.
Like all those years ago, Moffitt was deeply entranced by the music.
Like all those years ago, somehow he knew how to keep going.
Like all those years ago, he had visions.
Unlike all those years ago, he didn't become dizzy or lightheaded. He didn't start bleeding, or feeling like he was going to pass out. He kept going.
He wasn't sure how long it lasted, but that wasn't important. Eventually, something deep inside told him it was time for the tune to come to an end. The final few notes conveyed something hopeful, something that said, clear as day, everything will be okay.
In his trance, he had seen a vision of Anah, coiled on her throne, trying to tell herself that in a tearful voice. He saw Dietrich trying to tell himself that shortly after moving into his home. He saw himself trying to tell himself that while riding Snowstripe early one morning, after yet another night of awful dreams.
The chamber seemed a little brighter now. Moffitt noticed the tree had been fully restored. Huge, white blossoms covered every branch. The air felt less stuffy, and was full of the smell of flowers. Moffitt lowered the violin, feeling a bit drained. Being able to hear the tune in its entirety, and finally learn where it truly came from was part of the point of their trip, and he felt like he accomplished it.
As he put the violin back in its case, Moffitt noticed Anah perched on one of the branches just above his head. She looked content, even somewhat happy. "Yes, dear. Everything will be okay," she said. "And it is. I waited, and my patience paid off."
"So… now what?" Moffitt asked.
"Now, we may go home. We found what we were looking for."
"What about you? Do you feel better at all?"
"I do. Thank you. I… came to realize that this trip alone was all the proof I needed that you were never going to abandon me. You undertook it despite the fact that you have a baby on the way back home, and despite me arguing against it. You took me in here even though I was terrified. I trusted you, and that trust paid off. You never turned back, never gave up, even when things became difficult. All this… for me."
"Of course." Moffitt tied the violin case back to his knapsack, and held out his hand so Anah could slither onto his arm. "Let's go home."
He walked out to the throne room, Anah around his shoulders. Moffitt couldn't see a reason for ever coming back here. Even though Anah had regained her missing memories, and seemed more at peace with herself, Moffitt doubted she wanted to come back. There was, however, one last thing he wanted to do. He walked up to the throne, and glanced at Anah, a slight grin on his face. "May I?"
"You may, dear."
Moffitt set his knapsack down before sitting in the throne. He smiled at Anah, saying, "I've never sat in a throne before."
"You do look quite handsome seated here," Anah said.
"Why, thank you. Now, my first decree as king will be to get this place tidied up a bit. Get some carpet laid down, make some windows."
That got Anah to laugh.
"Make a fine arena, fit for the finest Arabian horses the desert has ever seen. Plant a garden for the most exquisite tea leaves, and the prettiest roses—for you, of course—and daffodils as white as snow for Vanora, my queen." Moffitt sighed, his tone saddening a little. "I miss my queen."
"I am sure she will be delighted to hear you call her that. We should go, if we want to return home before the baby arrives."
"Right." Moffitt stood, and stepped down from the throne. He picked up his knapsack, slung it over his shoulders, and headed back up the spiral staircase to leave the temple, and leave it for good.
He blinked as he emerged back into the harsh desert sun, seeing Janvier standing near the entrance, and Dietrich sitting on a small dune overlooking the temple. "Sorry for keeping you waiting," he said.
"It is alright, Jack," Janvier said. "You… never told me you could play the violin. It was probably the best I have ever heard."
"Oh, I doubt it was the best. I haven't played in years. I'm surprised you could hear it. Did you both hear it?"
"Yes. Dietrich was actually the one who pointed it out when it started."
Moffitt looked over in Dietrich's direction. "Well? What did you think? Was it exactly the way you remembered it from your dreams?"
"It was exactly the way I remembered it," Dietrich replied. "You played it beautifully."
"Thank you."
"I do not wish to be rude, but does this mean we can go home now?"
"It does." Moffitt glanced at Anah in the corner of his vision. "We will stop somewhere for the night, but I think we should leave this place first."
"Agreed." Dietrich looked relieved once he was helped back into Icepatch's saddle. "North?"
"North." Relief flooded over Moffitt as well when he climbed onto Snowstripe. North. To the Mediterranean. To Great Britain. To Cambridge. To home.
