I sit bolt upright in my bedroll. My heart is beating so fast that it could most likely beat any team of racing horses. Sweat and tears are pouring down my cheeks, and my throat is hoarse. I must have screamed my way through sleep. My nails are bitten down past the skin, and my hands are dripping blood. I suspect that when I ran out of fingernail to bite, I must have just bitten my fingers. I am shaking, and my clothes are soaked. My mother kneels over me, a concerned look on her face.
"Are you alright, Lorelei darling? I heard you screaming all night. You must have been really afraid. What did you dream about?"
I try to answer, and a stutter jumps out. "I-I-I dreamed th-that Everett c-c-came to get me and he tr-tr-tr-tried to take me away!" I bury my face in my hands and sob like a child. A feelng of helplessness trickles over me. Before, I could throw something or sew something or hit something to let myself be properly angry. But right now, all that I can do is drape myself over my mother and cry. She rubs my back and whispers "Shhhh, shhhh, it's alright" over and over again. I finally have cried so much that my eyes are empty, so I just lay there and breathe ragged breaths until my heartbeat slows a bit. I sit up and stare at the sky. The sky always changes, but it's always there. The sky will never leave you. Even when you are indoors, you know that the open, endless sky is right outside just waiting for you. The sky right now is a peaceful blue, but in a few hours it will become a panorama of shades, and then everything will fade to black.

My mother stands. There is a damp spot on her trousers that I suppose I left there. My mother really cares about me, and that makes me feel touched. When I was afraid, she sat there and comforted me. She could have just walked away, or told me to stand up and behave like a proper young lady, but she didn't. She could have ordered me to marry Everett and lived a peaceful life reading dull romances and knitting ugly things for the poor people. She supported me and cared for me, and that was all that I could really ask for. I rise from my spot in the grass, and we roll up our things. My mother eats half a loaf of bread and some cheese, but I am still too shaken to eat anything. I stand and brush the dirt from my pants and sling my sack over my shoulder. We walk along, the joy of the previous day gone, evaporated like water in the heat of the summer. There is an awful weight in my chest, a fear, and this was made all the more present by last night's dream. I am afraid that Everett will find us again, and that he will take my mother away from me. I lost her once, and I will NOT lose her again.

After a few hours, the delight of roaming free over the coutryside has worn away. My legs are screaming for a break, and my throat feels like it is on fire. Every joint, every fingertip and elbow, hurts like it has been broken. My head pounds, but my heart outpaces it. My clothing is soaked with sweat. I sigh, take a drink of the warm water, and just keep walking. After another hour or so, I give up and fling myself into the grass.
"How much longer must I walk?" I moan. I know that I sound like a child, but at the moment I do not care. I am just too exhausted to continue.
My mother checks the map. "Oh, not much at all."
I roll over so that my face is pressed into the grass. "You're fooling," I mumble. "There's still positively days of walking to go, but you want to make me feel better."
She shakes her head and then sits down beside me. "Read this."
I sit up and take the map. The little scarlet dot has moved so far forward that we are practically sitting on the Cave. Actually, we are sitting on the cave! I leap to my feet and run in circles around the hill that we sit on. My mother follows me, curiosity evident in her gaze. I find a rock embedded in the side of the hill, and I yank it. Hard. A horrible grating noise wobbles through my ears and makes my eyes water, but I keep pulling. Eventually, the rock pulls away from the hill, but it takes part of the hill with it. The mossy stone is in the shape of a strange kind of door, and behind it is an odd kind of tunnel. My mother peeks in there, but quickly recoils.
"Smells like brimstone in there," she reports.
"What could be so bad about a stone?" I ask. I throw my shoulders back and walk down into the tunnel.