The morning after her restless night, Maelin slipped out of the house before the sun fully rose. The village still slumbered, smoke just beginning to rise from a few chimneys. She carried no basket, no tools, nothing that would explain where she was going. Only her secret burned in her chest, urging her toward the dark slopes beyond the edge of the village.
The path to the volcano wound between hardened rivers of black rock, cracked and sharp like frozen waves. Thin streams of steam hissed through fissures, carrying the scent of sulfur and earth. The closer she walked, the warmer the ground became, until it buzzed through her feet like a hidden heartbeat.
Maelin finally stopped at a small hollow sheltered by jagged stones. Here the land was quiet, save for the occasional pop of steam. She glanced around to make sure no one had followed. The village roofs were far behind, barely visible through the haze. She grinned, excitement buzzing in her veins.
