After a brief afternoon spent aboveground—where I discovered my grandmother was not, in fact, overdressed because the weather had made a turn to cold and rainy that had persisted so long the sides of the cobblestoned roads of Villmark were constant running streams of water—I was back by the fire behind the waterfall before nightfall.
At least I had fresh supplies with me this time, thanks to the art bag Loke had given Mjolner to deliver to me.
I still had the cot there by the fire, and I still intended to sleep there, at least for the next night. But my grandmother"s words were haunting me.
I was going to have to go deeper again. But I wasn"t sure I was ready for that.
Not that I didn"t feel prepared. I did. I had supplemented Loke"s art bag with extra blank sketchbooks and pencils fro
