You wake up the next morning in the middle of a lush green clearing. A young hedgehog nudges you with its nose, and quickly rolls itself into a tight ball when you move to get up. You blearily rub your eyes, wondering why in the world are you sleeping in the middle of a forest instead of a comfy bed at the Hilton or Westin. You stretch sore muscles, the morning sun warming your shoulders and back, easing the ache of a restless and uncomfortable night.

You make your way slowly to the bubbling brook at the edge of the clearing, hoping that the cold water would invigorate your senses and clear the foggy depths of your memory. You dip your hands into the clear water -- the coldness of the water is almost painful at first, but becomes refreshing as you get used to it. You splash your face vigorously, trying to remove the gritty feeling from your eyes. You drink a handful, it tastes like mineral water but without the curious metallic aftertaste of bottled water.

Suddenly you sit up. The events of the night before unfold in your mind's eye and you remember Grayewolfe, her words, her home. But how is it that you ended up here? Was everything merely a dream? You feel a strange sense of sadness and disillusionment at the thought -- perhaps Grayewolfe was but a figment of your stressed imagination, a product of a mind searching for a solution. You turn back to the spot you had spent the night and you see, on the grass, a thick leather-bound book.

You pick up the cream envelope lying on the book. You open it and withdraw a sheet of paper. The note is short, the writing scrawled and hurried. You read the short lines quickly :

You pick up the huge book and gently turn the yellowing pages. As you turn to trudge down the hill back to the village of Caline, your heart is light and you take one last look at the glade where you had met Grayewolfe and your thoughts are of her.

Thank you Grayewolfe, wherever you are. Wind to thy wings.