They finally emerged from the wood and as the sky opened before them for the first time since entering the Wood of Thorns, Kyra was taken aback by the sight: there, but a few hundred yards away, sat the widest sea she had ever laid eyes upon, seeming to stretch to the end of the world. The sea was white with foam, windswept on this blustery day, pelted with rain and hail, and Kyra saw dozens of ships, taller than she’d ever seen, their masts bobbing and rocking. They were all clustered in a harbor, close to shore, and as Kyra looked carefully, she noticed a gushing river leading from the sea and winding its way through the wood. The river seemed to divide two woods, the trees on the far side a different color and glowing white. Kyra had never seen anything like it in all of Escalon, and she marveled at the sight.

They stopped there and stared, mesmerized, their faces pelted with rain and neither bothering to wipe it away.

“The Sorrow,” Dierdre remarked. “We’ve made it.”

Kyra turned and examined the river before them, and the small, wooden bridge spanning it.

“And the river?” Kyra asked.

“The River Tanis,” Dierdre replied. “It divides the Wood of Thorns and Whitewood. Once we cross it, we are in the West.”

“And then how far to Ur?” Kyra asked.

Dierdre shrugged.

“A few days?” she guessed.

Kyra’s heart fell at the thought. She felt the hunger gnawing at her stomach, felt the freezing cold as another gale of wind lashed her, and as she shivered, she did not know how they would make it.

“We could take the River Tanis,” Dierdre added. “We could find a boat. It won’t take us all the way, though, and it is a rough ride. I know more than one man from Ur who has died in its waters.”

Kyra examined the gushing river, its sound deafening even from here—louder even than the crashing waves of the Sorrow—and she realized its danger. She shook her head, preferring to risk whatever they might encounter on land than in those torrential currents.

She studied the contours of the river and saw where it narrowed, one shore nearly touching the other; a small bridge spanned it, clearly well-traveled, shaped in an arch to allow ships to pass through. She spotted something on its shores: a small, wooden structure, like a cottage, weathered, leaning, perched at the edge of the river. Candles burned in its sole window, and she noticed dozens of small boats tied up alongside it. It was a hub of activity. She saw men stumbling out of it, off-balance, heard a raucous shout, and she realized: it was a tavern.

The smell of food wafting in the air hit her like a punch in the gut and made it hard for her to focus on anything else. She wondered what sort of people were inside.