Imagine a great waterfall that drops about fifty feet into a deep pool, then rushes down river, where it will eventually join the sea. On either side of the cascade, great walls of granite tell the story of their origin through layers and colors of sedimentation.
One side of the river is flanked by verdant forest and sandy beaches. The other side is slate, jutting out over the water like a jetty. A haven, sheltered by the tall cliffs of Dolor, stretches away from the rocky banks, opening into a peaceful meadow. In the midst of the meadow, a thicket resists all attempts at cultivation. Here, a mist rises, early evening; the great pines whisper.
The inhabitants of Dolor have long avoided the haven. People walk into the mist, never to be seen again. Everyone knows someone who never came back. A strange power holds sway. Medicine men call it “a magnetic force.” The humble men of Dolor know nothing of such things. Some ancient curse is at play here, best to be avoided.
Carved into the rock at various points along the way, are runes, to warn the unsuspecting stranger: “Turn and go another way.”
Next: The Story of Deborah.