Mugu finally reached the shore and saw land again. He laughed, the sound breaking out of him without restraint. Then his legs gave way and he dropped to his knees in the sand, both hands pressing into it as if to confirm it was real and not another cruel illusion of the sea.
After a while, he sat back and began to redraw the map the old woman had given him. He used a small stick, carefully tracing lines into the sand with slow, deliberate strokes.
He did not struggle with it. Either his memory was exceptional, or he had stared at that map so often that it had carved itself into his mind.
"The Duhu Mountains," he muttered.
The moment those words left his mouth, Damon felt a chill run through him.
The Duhu Mountains were not spoken of lightly. It was a place of horrors and rules. Strange rules. Deadly rules.
"If you see something, no you do not," Damon muttered.
"I want to believe in Mugu, I really do. It is just that the Duhu Mountains are not a pleasant place."
