---
John knew none of this. Morning found him at the worktable with his map of the region open and a stub of pencil doing small, precise work. Villages turned to dots. Dots leaned toward roads. Roads slid toward names he underlined twice: Cross Birch, East Hollow, River Gate.
Fizz lay on his back in the air, his furry paws steepled on his stomach like a nobleman visiting his future. "We will need snacks for the road," he said. "And a banner to wave as we ride past people who do not yet understand who we are."
"We will need a cart," John said, practical already and more so when plans were unsteady. "Or at least a pack animal that does not argue. Bread. Dried meat. A new whetstone. Oil. Rope. Chalk. A list for Gael so orders do not sit idle while we are gone. Two letters to merchants. One to Mara to keep her listening."
