Myra finally cleared the edge of the forest after three hours of toil and stumbling. She sighed in relief as she stepped onto the well-traveled path that led in and out of the trees. "I hope she comes to Tendroh when we talk again," Myra thought fervently. "I don't want to walk that path ever again."
At as brisk a pace as her sore feet would allow, Myra made her way home. Within twenty minutes, the last few lights remaining in the small village were visible. "It's later than I thought." Myra hastened her steps, hoping to make it back to her smithy before the mage-lights triggered.
"Made it," she thought as she stepped into the yard outside her small house. The mage-lights lit up a moment later. "Barely."
Entering her house and stretching out sore limbs, Myra dumped her bag onto the floor and opened it, pulling out lady Faylore's books and, as an afterthought, the apple that she had been given earlier that day. "Might as well eat while I read."
She picked one of the books at random and carried it into her darkened bedroom. She gently set it down on her bed and groped around until she found a small piece of metal with a rune engraved on it. She then carefully made her way to a table at the foot of her bed and touched the metal to the wick of a candle on the table.
The rune flared with a white light, and the wick lit with a reassuring orange flame. "Thanks, Dad," Myra thought as she put the metal at the head of her bed. "The runes you left behind are still coming in handy."
Myra returned to her bed and retrieved the book, then laid it down on the table. With a sense of reverence, she opened it to find the title written in plain writing, surrounded by very intricate illustrations: The Legend of the Lost Kingdom.
With the smile that always accompanied her into the worlds that authors hid in their books, Myra turned to the first page and began to read.