As they traveled, the sun climbed and the trees thinned, giving way to a flat plain. Waist-high wild grain waved in the morning breeze and stretched invitingly to a thick stand of pines on the horizon. Galvin listened to the rhythmic swishing noise the grain made against Brenna's dress as the enchantress made her way through the field behind him. She was lagging behind, and the druid feared if she couldn't pick up the pace, it could take them twice as long to reach Thay.

The centaur moved effortlessly over the flat ground. He stretched his arms away from his body, nearly parallel to the earth, and threw his head back. Wynter relished the sun and the long hours he spent under its rays on his farm. The warmth felt invigorating on his tanned skin.

Wynter reached down and pulled loose a handful of the crop, examining the grain carefully. He decided it was a variety of wild wheat. He grew something similar to this, although it didn't grow this well. The centaur wondered why Aglarond hadn't built farms on this ground. The soil beneath his feet was certainly fertile; the wild grain seemed to thrive on it. Likely the nearness of Thay kept the farmers from settling it, he thought. The threat of the Red Wizards kept a lot of people from doing what they would like.

The River Umber rolled lazily through the plain, cutting a broad course into Aglarond. The Umber regularly overflowed its banks because of the Red Wizard's rain spells, helping to keep the area fertile. The centaur considered this the only good done by the Red Wizards. Before their interference, sages described this area as a savanna, windswept and subject to frequent droughts.

The trio followed a course nearly parallel to the river, staying well back from its muddy banks. Wynter could tell that the Umber was an old river, since it meandered like a boa constrictor, comfortable in its course. He knew when they came closer to Thay, its path would straighten. The waterfall that fell from the First Escarpment breathed new life into the aging river, giving it a quick, even current-at least for a number of miles.

Near midmorning, the fields ended at the edge of a pine grove. The tall branches provided enough shade to keep out the hottest of the sun's rays. Farther into the woods, the pines gave way to deciduous trees, mainly walnuts, hickories, and oaks. The travelers paused in the grove for more than an hour. The druid told Wynter the break was needed because Brenna was tiring. While that was true, his real reason was to rest his shoulder. He collected more herbs for another healing poultice and applied it while Wynter gathered a bag of nuts. Feeling much better, Galvin called an end to the break and resumed their trek.

The druid followed a path closer to the riverbank now, where the trees thinned and the land could be navigated more easily. For the next four hours, the councilwoman kept up surprisingly well, negotiating through tall weeds, wrestling with bushes that seemed to clutch at her dress, and slogging her way through wide patches of mud where the river had overflowed its bank and then receded. However, about midafternoon, when she was concentrating on the tricky footing in some muddy ground, she neglected to see a low-hanging branch. Wynter and Galvin had sidestepped it, but she walked right into it blindly, giving her head a good banging and somehow managing to fasten her braids securely to the thick foliage.

"Damn!" she cursed, dropping her satchel in a puddle and pulling with both hands to try to free her hair. "I hate this horrible, gods-forsaken place!" The Harpers turned to see one of her braids uncoil from around her head. It was still obstinately attached to the branch, and it looked like she was playing tug-o-war with the tree, using her hair for the rope. Galvin watched with amusement. She would eventually succeed, but the tree was putting up a good fight.

Wynter trotted to Brenna's side, holding the branch steady so she could tug the braid loose. Her fingers worked furiously, pulling and fraying the braid and angering her even more. Finally it came loose, and she stood red-faced next to her muddy bag, eyeing her mud-soaked hem.

"Damn!" she swore again, forgetting her cultivated manners and firmly swatting the tree branch.

"That's enough," the druid stated, walking toward Brenna and Wynter. "No need to take out your frustration on the tree."

"Oh, no?" she said sarcastically, batting at the branch again. "I'm tired, I'm wet, I'm dirty, and I look horrible." She struggled with the braid, trying to twine it back about her head, but the gold clasp used to fasten it was missing. "Damn!"

She moved to strike the branch a third time, but the druid's arm shot out and his hand closed firmly about her wrist.

"I said that's enough."

Brenna fumed and glared at Galvin. Wrenching her arm free, she fell to her knees and began feeling about among the ferns for the clasp.

"Let's move on," Galvin urged as he scanned the ground and spotted the glint of something metal-her hair clasp-in a puddle. "There it is. Grab it and let's get going."

The sorceress, still on her hands and knees, looked up at him haughtily, then glanced back down at the puddle. "You're so kind to help me find it," she said sarcastically.

"So uncommonly kind." She stretched forward and plunged her fingers into the puddle, retrieving the clasp, which was partly covered with mud. She tried to clean the clasp in the murky water, but the mud was lodged in the intricate filigree work and wouldn't wash out.

Wynter bent forward and offered her a hand to help her up. Ignoring it, she rose, then looked about for her satchel, which was sitting in another puddle. Picking up the bag, she swung it clumsily over her shoulder, causing mud to drip down her back and spray over Wynter's chest. Angry and puffing, she started to follow the bank to catch up to the druid.

Quickly reaching his side, she thrust out an arm and grabbed his shoulder. "We're stopping right here until I clean up," she said firmly. When he shook his head from side to side, she added, "You'll just have to wait for me. That's that."

Her ultimatum delivered, the councilwoman dropped her bag, stuffed her hair clasp in a pocket, and started toward the river.

The druid turned toward the centaur and grimaced. Galvin noticed that Wynter was keeping his distance from the woman. Safe, the druid observed, but the safe approach wasn't always the best-especially when he was in a hurry.

"We're not waiting," the druid said simply, expecting Brenna to accede to his decision. Instead, she ignored him and bent to unlace her boots. Determined, the druid strode purposely toward her.

"Galvin, don't…" the centaur began.

But the druid was not about to be slowed down by a pacifist centaur and a politician who was overly concerned about her appearance. In a handful of steps, Galvin reached Brenna before she could step out of her boots, grabbed her about the waist, and threw her over his good shoulder. She kicked and struggled, her fists beating futilely against his chest and her knees bludgeoning his back. She reminded the druid of a deer he had pulled out of a mud bog last month.

Galvin held her fast and resumed his trek along the bank of the river, wishing he would have grabbed her the other way so her face was behind him.

Wynter, slack-jawed at the performance, fell in behind them.

The sorceress continued to kick and squirm, even though she realized his strength would prevail. Furious, she tried another tactic. "Wynter, help me!" she gasped as she continued to pummel the druid's chest.

"Galvin," the centaur admonished. "Put her down."

The druid tarried only long enough to scowl at the centaur. Then he lengthened his stride. Wynter came alongside them on the side toward the stream, watching the river and avoiding Brenna's angry gaze.