for a village of time, anyill exists it must be furtrols. e’ve never s of inants from it coming souto Cloven Crest. t is, op.

    to seraction s, travelers and so on—but encounters   ty. trols o see even t is, not creatures or Free Magic constructs, or too many of those.”

    “I don’t understand,” muttered Sabriel. “Faten used to talk of villages and toies, in t of remember . . . I think.”

    “Furto tainly,”

    replied tion quite a feoies. e kno t say it h any fondness.”

    Sabriel didn’t ans lay a mig. It  miles afall if s fairly soon, and if it  snooo er Stone did not bode  to Deato tread. Cer Stones en erected en natural dooro t a s t of o he map.

    S ill s ouc of .

    “I er almost your age,” ly. “Back in Corvere,  let o the Old Kingdom.”

    Sabriel met  tain, flickering beacons of adolescence.

    “I am only eigside,”

    souc   ful motion. “But I first ered a Fifte Rester e. een I stalked and banis t came near t, but still . . . A year ago, I turned t feel young anymore.”

    “I am sorry for t,” said t as if  I y t goes  I don’t  imes a path.”

    “‘Does ted, t er Magic, tion in t of her almanac.

    t  page, of the Dead.

    “I’ve  before,” remarked horyse.

    “ does it mean?”

    “I don’t know,” said Sabriel.

    “It ,” added taste of ter marks ill in t’s all t words.”

    “I can’t explain it.” Sabriel stempted a smile. “But I do kno are more to t at t, like: ‘traveler, embrace t, but do not take t.’ I must