Victor and the others remained silent all night, navigating by the stars, and only keeping to a light trot to avoid detection. Dawn flared on the horizon and they rested on a hill, scouting the southern plane for pursuers.
“I think we’re in the clear,” said Gretel.
Sam still had a look of wonder in her eyes. “Did you guys see what Rodrick and Caesar did? They disappeared into thin air! I didn’t think such a thing was possible!”
Even Gretel admitted that her father’s talents had been hidden from her. “You can think you know everything about someone and still they find new ways to surprise you.”
Rodrick had been right about the passage through the desert being easier than that of Draco’s Peak. A feint caravan pass meandered on for twelve days and all they had to do was follow it. The road was barren, however, and no one had crossed it for some time. Still, the four travellers had become so accustomed to living in the wild that they made better ground than Rodrick predicted.
On the second day, they found an intact well and two wooden huts amidst the stony ridges, and there they stayed and replenished their water. By the fourth day the land had levelled out; the earth was hard and dry and only crinkly shrubs and sturdy desert trees survived. On day seven the road was swept under by an ocean of white sand, and it became much harder to navigate. Fortunately, the nights were calm and the days swift, and ten days after setting out from Haswhald they found the paved road that snaked east into Dale.
“Ah, it feels nice to see buildings again!” Sam remarked.
Despite all their hard work, Sam had been restless ever since she awoke in the bunker. They slept in proper beds that night. The next morning, Victor carefully removed the bandage from Sam’s hand, and she winced as the cotton was pulled away, but the wound was small and had healed well enough. The damage from the poison would leave an odd scar, however, and it was one that she would bear for the rest of her days.
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