The Secret Medusa, Prologue:

The sylvan rush of green, the sun a catching flute of stars. The wind was like water, the road a stream, and the car cut through it all like a knife. Destination stood in the distance, like our very own northern star-- a compass tracing the leylines on a map.

Words lost their meaning; expectation was a breath caught in our throats, and our hearts tried to be still but couldn't. We knew she was waiting and that thought shone for us like a Pharos and illuminated the grey sea road.

"We're getting there..." Tobias sang, driving with both hands on the wheel, hunched as if on horseback, as if in a race. And maybe we were.

All four of us nodded in assent.