His gaze returned to the map, narrowing on that winding line that branched off from Lostriver’s main flow, a separate tributary or vein that slid past Comman Dur before continuing its path southward. The place where he’d jabbed his fingertip was so close to the mark it was almost touching. Which meant the river had to be close.

But then where was it?

A sudden fear struck him. What if this part of the river system had been so feeble it had dried up completely, the fast-growing forest smothering it with foliage? And if so, what if he found himself wandering in circles, unable to navigate by the sun because of the thick canopy that blocked most of the light? Had he made a mistake by charging headlong into the forest while Bryony gathered information in Dunmire? Would she find her father first, the pair of them fleeing Finfalla forever, never to be seen again? What would he do then?

Before panic set in, that blanket of calm fell over him once more, as though the forest had rekindled its efforts in response to his growing stress. He took a deep, centering breath. He’d endured much worse in The Wilds than being lost in a forest. With that in mind, he thought, Just keep moving, and set off once more. Within ten steps, he heard the sound of water, except it wasn’t the gentle burble of a cheerful stream flowing through the forest but the rush of fast-moving water crashing its way between a channel of stone.

He veered in its direction, pushing the tangle out of his way rather than delaying himself by taking an easier roundabout path. As the terrain began to descend, the sound grew louder, and he thought he could see what he was searching for through the trees.

And then he was there, his breath stolen for a second by the beauty of the river, which was less a minor vein and more a major tributary of Lostriver, an arterial gush of whitewater between the rows of boulders standing sentinel on either side, making fording it impossible for even the strongest swimmer.

He looked left, and then right, following the river’s path in each direction to the farthest point his eyes could see, the rapids bending out of sight. Over the years, the river had gouged a deep scar in the forest, a bloody slash illuminated by the sun’s dying rays. A slash that he would now be able to follow northward all the way to his destination, which had been intentionally built on the river’s banks to ensure an infinite water supply.