The girl jumps and calls for the elder to wait, that she is coming. Before she leaves, she turns her head in my direction. Her eyes widen, and I swear she sees me, but before either of us can say a word, the earth warps again, bending and wrapping around me.

My stomach protests, and I gag on bile. I slam to a stop. I’m still in a forest, though it’s now daylight, and the trees’ lush canopy is a lighter green.

“Now what,” I huff, bending over to catch my breath.

Another call for help; this time, a male voice cries in the distance. I almost don’t care. Surely I’ve found one of the four hells! This must be a punishment from The Lady for my complaints about my life. She’s thrown me into worlds where I can’t be seen, heard, or understood. I resolve to settle next to a tree and rest while waiting for the next vision or whatever these journeys are.

A gust of wind whips against my face, and the young female from the dark wood flies past me.

“I am coming! Hold on!” She cries.

Despite my determination to rest, I’m overcome with curiosity, and I follow. We dart between trees, dodge shrubbery, and sprint down a hill before I see who’s in distress. It’s a young male with round cheeks and bright eyes that dart wildly.

I stop in my tracks, horrified. He’s stuck under his horse and is gasping for breath.

“Please,” he begs. “I cannot move. He is too heavy!”

There’s nothing that I can do to help, and judging by the mount’s size, the young girl can’t either. My face collapses as I realize I’m about to witness this young man’s death.

The young woman isn’t as convinced. She stumbles over to him and holds his head in her hands. I observe her more closely. She’s different. Before, she exuded terror; now, there’s confidence. Her confusion has grown into a deep understanding. She is older now, by a few years at least. She leans down and brushes the sweep of the young man’s hair from his brow. His skin is turning a pale gray-blue; breath is leaving him. The horse struggles but can’t lift itself.

She carefully lowers the male’s head and, removing a ribbon from her wrist, uses it to tie back her hair. She’s concentrating intensely and I wonder if she’ll attempt to push the horse off him. A futile gesture, but I can’t blame her. If I believed I could touch the horse, I’d offer to help too. She steps back, and I notice the boy’s face grow still, his eyes hazing from the coming of death.