For two days they followed Stoney Book northeast through the trackless northern wastes, and on the third, Lily was certain that the Marsh must lay far-off yet. But by degrees, as the day wore on, her mien became suffused with a look of sick dread. And then, without warning, before Anest could react or think to restrain her, with a strangled cry she urged Danin on into the heart of the Marsh.
At once, the white pony balked, lost his footing, and went down in a spray of black earth. Lily was thrown from his back onto her hands and knees, but in a paroxysm of desperation she got at once to her feet and sought to grab Danin's reins. But the white horse shied away from her, his wild eyes showing their whites, ears laid back in fear.
Alarmed, Anest dismounted and tried to approach Lily, but a fey mood was upon her, and she turned from him and began running into the heart of the Marsh.
"Lily!"
Hastily tethering the horse's reins together lest they became separated, Anest gave chase to his young wife who, though small in stature, was far more fleet of foot than himself, and sure of herself in the marshlands.
Running towards the cause of her distress, Lily's lithe, slight form in her flying dress was the very embodiment of desperation and anguish.