Julius’s truck slows along a narrowing road where pavement gives way to gravel and old earth. By the time he pulls over, the sun has begun its descent toward evening, casting long gold through the trees.
“This is as far as the road’s worth following,” he says, climbing out long enough to point them onward.
At first glance, the way ahead looks like little more than a faint deer path winding downhill between crooked pines and frost-dark stones. Yet the valley beyond already feels subtly wrong for the season. The air is cool there, touched with lingering frost despite what SHOULD be the warmth of Spring, and pale mist hangs low against the ground.
“Bluebell thought the veil might run thin around sunset if conditions line up right,” Julius explains. “Not a true trod maybe, but the sort of place where the Dreaming presses close.”
He glances toward the valley, thoughtful.
“Spring above, winter below. Sounds like the kind of place our Lady's Amberheart would grow."
The Satyr pauses, "Did you want me to wait here, or can you ring when you're back? These things sometimes take time in a way that time doesn't quite make sense. Non-linear, for bigger brains than mine."
Art opens his mouth, but Julius waves him off. "Not now, son. I don't want a physics lecture." He smiles to show that it's not intended as a criticism.