They came presently to a small stone bridge, under which a tiny creek passed. They were midway across when Deborah glanced down at the water and froze. In a pool, amid round boulders which were skirted with years of accumulated green algae, framed between root entangled banks of clay, was an image that was not a reflection.
‘Pran!’
The three of them watched as the scene played itself out. Moving down the slope they had seen earlier, the freezing mists came. They could see evil shapes in the mist now, and could sense the presence of something far worse behind them, driving them and the mists onward. The mists reached the river bank and levelled out along its edge. They seemed to thicken and grow with power. The river began to give off wraith-like plumes of vapour as the gelid air vied with the spell which protected the Sanctuary.
The spell was strong and resilient, but already a crackling rheum of ice was forming on the far shore . . .
‘It has begun!’ the Elf said urgently. ‘We must move quickly now. Éha, you may transform and seek the others. Try to warn them, but be wary! They may try to capture you, and waste precious time.’
Éha swallowed, reluctant now that she had her wish. But she did as she was asked. Deborah watched her go with not a little concern.